Harry Potter Plot Bunnies to Kill
by Innortal
Summary: Serious plot bunnies in the style of the Omake Files. As requested, a second installment of the life and times of Harry Potter and his Guardian, Ranma Saotome.
1. A True Slytherin

**A True Slytherin**

Disclaimer: I don't own this series or any other series. I am just floating an idea. I am making no money, nor plan to, off this venture. If you think of suing me over this, then grow up.

I would like to first personally thank all of those reviewing my stories. I enjoy reading your comments, and try to correct the grammatical errors I miss with my final read-through as well as my spell checkers. The suggestions you all make will help make this story better for everyone to enjoy, as well as allow my to fix some plot holes I may unintentionally leave. If you find any, let me know, and I will correct them and repost the chapters.

* * *

Within the walls of the outer property, made hidden by an Unplottable Charm, stood Greengrass Manor. Unlike the property of the Malfoy Manor, the landscape didn't appear foreboding, but neither did it appear completely welcoming. It contained neither manicured lawns nor wild grass. In essence, it was a manor done in moderate taste without appearing as if a fortune was spent in its design and maintenance.

Inside however, despite the large rooms and spacious interior, were only six people, aside from House Elves, paintings, and other magical creatures. Three children, all between the age of ten and eleven, sat in the study, preparing their minds for their upcoming first year at Hogwarts. There was a fourth child on the land, but she was playing in the garden.

However in the lounge, the remaining three people sat.

Antonia Zabini, a mother of one boy conceived by magic after her fourth husband died during a raid. The fact he had been a reluctant unmarked Death Eater did not hurt her feelings for him, and the requirements of their marriage contract had not only ensured that the elder Blaise would have an heir, but that it was an heir no other husband could subvert. Of the seven husbands she had had, he was the only one she had ever loved.

Coincidently, her first three had been friends with her father, before he was 'accidentally' killed working for the Dark Lord, as the last three had been friends with her husband before he suffered a similar accident. Of course, the fact they had betrayed her family had sealed their deaths. Every woman in this small group knew the reason they may have died, but not how.

Ah, the joy of owning a House Elf who knew how to use Muggle Explosives.

Victoria Greengrass was the matron of the house, a daughter named Daphne and a younger one named Astoria. She was still happily married to her husband, which in pureblood society meant she hadn't felt a need to try and have him 'caught' by the Aurors in a compromising position. The only reason they had had two children was because unlike most pureblood families, her husband still believed in the old 'an heir and a spare' philosophy.

Amanda Davis was the last, mother of Tracey Davis. She was a powerful witch in her own right, even offered a spot as an Auror before her family married her off to Abraham Davis. The two barely tolerated each other, and only mutual blackmail they had kept the one from 'divorcing' the other.

Safe to say a little resentment came about from this.

"So ladies," started Antonia, "any new gossip for the day? I do have places to be?"

"Looking for a few Muggle men to warm your bed?" asked Amanda cattily.

"Say what you will, but they are about as pompous as a Hufflepuff, and they do enjoy pleasing a desirable lady," smirked Zabini.

"Too true," muttered Victoria, "most pureblood males fail to attend to our joy."

"Makes one almost envy the Weasleys," sighed Antonia. "Dirt poor, but she must love him to pop out that many children."

The others nodded as they sipped their tea.

"I do think I should bring up that this coming year will also be Harry Potter's first year as well," Amanda mentioned.

"And we should care, why?" asked Victoria.

Antonia snorted. "My dear, you may talk and walk like a Slytherin, but do use the mind of one as well." Ignoring Victoria's glare, she continued. "A boy rumored to have killed Him?"

"You believe the Dark Lord yet lives?" asked Amanda.

"My last three husbands did," she admitted. "Something about their Dark Marks only fading; my guess is that his life is tied to them, so if he had died, the marks would have disappeared."

"Wonder where Dumbledore stashed him?" wondered Amanda.

"Knowing the old coot; probably somewhere damn near Muggle. 'Best to keep his ego down,' or some such rubbish," snorted Antonia. "The boy's well protected; not even well meaning wishes can reach him. And we've all heard the same rumors of some wizards and witches spotting him in the Muggle World. I think it is safe to say Dumbledore is hiding him there to keep him from the Dark Lord's former minions."

"We all know Lucius would love to get his hands on the boy," muttered Victoria.

"There are two ways to interpret that line," smirked Amanda, "and I believe both ways are true."

"Ah yes," sighed Antonia, "dear Lucius is a bit of an enigma in that department. But he would love to have the Potter vaults to use for his own. I am surprised he hasn't begun to set things up to become a Dark Lord of his own."

"Lucius is a Slytherin," said Veronica. "He knows to control things behind the scenes, but he's being careful. If their Marks ever completely fade, I have no doubt the fool will try and take control over the remaining forces."

"I have heard he is showing interest in the Parkinson family," added Amanda.

"Given what we've seen of young Draco, my guess is the twit is trying to set up a marriage contract fast," smirked Antonia. It was no secret to them that Draco was no Lucius. But then again, his father had been more interested in building his own power base than properly training his heir, so at least the youngest Malfoy had a good reason for having the low IQ of a shoe.

But training their own heirs was something they hadn't failed on their own. Tracey, Blaise, and Daphne knew how to talk pureblood, act pureblood, and fight pureblood. Little Astoria was also learning the regime as well. They also knew how to be true Slytherin, unlike a good bit of the House who graduated.

"Can we go back to Potter?" asked Amanda.

"Anyway," said Antonia, restarting the topic, "the boy will be Head of the House of Potter, received quite a few bits of gold and property when childless friends of his parents left their fortunes to his own parents, and I have strong evidence that unless Regulus Black turns up, when Sirius dies, he will inherit the Black fortunes as well."

The eyes of the other women arched slightly. They had known of the Potter acquisitions, as well as the others. But the Black fortunes, that was new.

"He'll be quite the catch, I imagine," muttered Amanda.

"Assuming both Blacks die," added Veronica.

Antonia snorted. "Please, we all know Sirius was no Death Eater. We all went to school with that foursome. Do any of you believe Pettigrew would confront anyone, especially Sirius?"

"Very true," added Amanda. "If we feel the need to antagonize Fudge and Dumbledore this year, we could 'sway' enough votes to drag Black in for a trial."

"He never got one?" asked Veronica.

"Nope," smirked Antonia. "Hmm, perhaps I'll have one started anyway. Whatever our dear former Headmaster and Minister have planned, we shouldn't let it go so easily. We can't have someone's plans going correctly, not unless they are our own."

"And our plans are?" asked Amanda.

"Simple," said Antonia. "If young Harry is as ignorant of our world as I fear Dumbledore has made him, then we should correct this. Allies in all the Houses at Hogwarts would aid him."

"Are you planning to seduce him?" asked Veronica.

"Too young for my tastes," said Antonia. "I may consider using that spell of Blaise's father and try for a daughter to wed to him, even if the Last Sire clause must be invoked."

"Last Sire?" asked Amanda.

"Law made in the 1600s," Antonia added. "Basically, since dear Harry is the last of his line, he's allowed a bit more leeway in terms of marriages. Last time it was used for a male heir, I believe he had only three wives."

"So you want us to get our daughters in his good graces so he might marry them," said Amanda with a glare.

"Marriage is one possibility," admitted Antonia. "However, think of what power one might have if you are friends with Potter, what doors would that open? If you represent his interests in anything, that alone, assuming you do very well would be a set position. If the boy is properly trained and motivated, his fame could be used as a weapon. He could be an Auror, of that I have no doubt. But he could just as easily be the youngest Minister we've ever had."

"The boy will be a lead into power," answered Veronica, understanding. "But our children will most assuredly be Slytherin. And knowing his family and what the Headmaster will likely inspire, the boy will be a Gryffindor."

"And if he has Slytherins he can trust, those that will stand against the developing cannon fodder for Malfoy's crusade?" Antonia teased.

"Very true," nodded Amanda. "Besides, that Merlin-awful hat is always spouting about House Unity. And it would be so fitting to the old coot if it was Slytherin House that started it," she mused, giggling slightly.

"Their Head of House won't be pleased," said Veronica.

"Please, Severus would be pissed that Potter is breathing," spat Antonia. "If nothing else, spiting him should give us more reason to do it. We all know that he had a thing for Lily, and I personally doubt he would put aside his anger towards Potter's child."

"Very true," said Amanda. "However won't this cause him to allow certain Slytherins to become unruly towards ours?"

"And we will raise enough of a public stink to get him and Albus fired," commented Antonia offhandedly. "That Skeeter woman is always looking for juicy gossip to slam anyone with. And while I might not be above greasing her palm a bit to get the job done, I'm sure she'd rather love the chance to attack Dumbledore and his charity case."

"Any dirt on Skeeter you care to share?" asked Amanda.

"Rumors, nothing more, but it is something for another time," waved off Antonia. "Right now we should think more about our plans for young Potter."

"If the Dark Lord is still around and returns…" warned Veronica.

"Then we are doomed anyway," interrupted Antonia. "The man has done more to doom the purebloods than Muggles ever could. Considering how few children we are having, it's only a matter of time before our choices and our descendants end up like the Gaunts. And I'm sure you all remember the stories about that family."

The others slowly nodded as they drank their tea. The Gaunt line was the stuff of private jokes to the purebloods, especially the neutral ones. A line of such ancestry to be reduced to the joke they ended as. It showed the dangers of thinking small and 'too pure'.

It was also most likely the reason the two mothers of girls had not been propositioned by Lucius, marriage contracts stipulated the girls could only be engaged by choice and by love. What happened to the mothers would not befall their girls. So if young Draco wanted to marry a Greengrass or a Davis, he would have to do so the honest way.

"Not only has he reduced the Pureblood families," continued Antonia, "if he returns, you all know very well he will force sides. He won't sit for any neutral families this time around. He'll demand allegiance or give you death."

The mood quieted inside the room. If anyone knew of the Dark Lord's mindset, it was a woman who was on more than one occasion under his scrutiny. Random deaths of his followers tended to be noticed, especially when they had a single common element.

"I did have it on good authority that sooner or later, I might be staring at the end of a odd green light and my son would be fully indoctrinated and supporting You-Know-Who," she said quietly. Taking a deep breath, Antonia looked at her friends. "Whether Potter will survive or the Dark Lord returns is irrelevant. We know his ambition, and we all know that sooner or later he would perhaps conquer Britain, maybe get beachheads in Ireland or France. But the ICW is far from stupid, despite whom they have and what Fudge tells them.

"And when the Dark Lord overextends himself, the magical world will come down hard on us, worse than the Americans and the Russians did to Grindelwald. That's assuming that the Americans don't come down on him when and if he returns.

"And in the end, who do you think will pay?" she asked. "We will. Best to throw with Potter and ensure he has a fighting chance."

"Well this is getting depressing," said Amanda. "So who gets to tell the kids?"

* * *

**Omake:** by Tom A.

"It's a patriarchical plot to subjugate women!" yelled Hermione about the Last Sire clause.

"Are you kidding? Harry's smart, but he's not as smart as any of us.  
There's no way he could 'subjugate' us if we weren't cooperating."

"Besides, I borrowed his invisibility cloak and snuck into the boys  
bathroom!"

The other girls got excited (or indignant, in Hermione's case) "You  
didn't!"

"Yup!"

"Tell!"

"Pansy's going to be sooooo disappointed."

"And Harry?"

"A luxury model!"

Hermione looked puzzled. "Huh?"

"He's big for his age."

"No he's not. He's one of the smallest of the first years."

Daphne put her face in her palm and shook her head. "How can you be  
so smart and so dumb?"

* * *

**Author Note:** These are not set stories, just random serious plot bunnies for consideration, for either future stories or to inspire others to write their own. 


	2. Revenge Best Served…

**Revenge Best Served…**

Disclaimer: I don't own this series or any other series. I am just floating an idea. I am making no money, nor plan to, off this venture. If you think of suing me over this, then grow up.

I would like to first personally thank all of those reviewing my stories. I enjoy reading your comments, and try to correct the grammatical errors I miss with my final read-through as well as my spell checkers. The suggestions you all make will help make this story better for everyone to enjoy, as well as allow my to fix some plot holes I may unintentionally leave. If you find any, let me know, and I will correct them and repost the chapters.

* * *

Dumbledore gave off a slight moan as he returned to the waking world, trying to discern what had occurred.

_Let's see; my last memory was arriving at the area of the Burrow with Harry after finishing convincing Slughorn to return to teach. After that, nothing._

_Were we perhaps attacked by Tom and his associates?_

"Glad to see you finally awake, sir."

"Harry?" he asked, trying to look around. But his captor had also blindfolded him, as well as bound him. Even his wandless magic seemed to fail him at the moment.

"Yes?"

"Do you recall what happened?"

There was silence for a moment, frightening him that Harry may have been silenced by an outside source. However, it turned out for not as Harry spoke once again.

"I have a good idea, sir."

"Were we attacked by Death Eaters?"

"No… I'd have to say I doubt we are in this situation because of Death Eaters."

Dumbledore cursed inwardly. It was obvious Harry had seen the assault. And if not for the blindfold, he could simply read the child's mind and see what had occurred, maybe figure out why this was occurring.

"Sir, may I ask a question?"

"Certainly, Harry," he replied, wanting to keep the boy calm before he tried something rash.

"Was it all worth it to get Sirius killed?" asked Harry's voice, now without any emotional inflection.

"What?" asked Dumbledore, shocked.

"It took me a few days to piece the ideas together," Harry continued; his voice still passive. "I blamed myself of course, not that you did anything worthwhile to dissuade my guilt. But eventually, I moved beyond that, and opened my mind, trying to see what I could have done differently, like summoned Padfoot when Bellatrix stunned him, before he fell into the Veil.

"But then I got to thinking," he continued. "I started to ask myself not why Voldemort planned his trap, but how he planned it; how did he know of our connection."

"I'm afraid you have me at a loss," Dumbledore quickly replied, trying to buy some time. Had Voldemort's possession of him done something to Harry's psyche?

"You see, other than the Weasleys and a few Gryffindors in my year, only a few adults knew that I seemed to have a window into his soul," Harry mused. "Of the three I know, there was Professor McGonagall, you, and Snape."

"Professor Snape, Harry," he inserted.

"A professor teaches students, Snape does not," replied Harry. 

"But I digress. I know from Sirius and the Order that Snape was supposed to be a double-agent.

"So I ask once again, sir: how did Voldemort know?"

Albus stayed quiet for a few moments, trying to discern what would be the best to say. However, Harry refused to let up.

"I must admit, it took me a while to reach that conclusion," Harry mused. "But then, my caretakers did do their best to make sure I never bested Big D in any achievement. And what with him being such a poor scholar, I suppose it could be expected."

"Harry, we need to leave now!"

"What makes you think you're muggle-loving ass is going to escape?" asked a familiar female voice.

"Ah yes," said Harry. "The former Lady Black was only too ready to help me," commented Harry.

"Harry, please release me so we can discuss this," he pleaded. "You had no need to do such a thing if you merely wished to talk to me about your suspicions."

"Don't take me for a fool, sir," said Harry. "I release you, and I'll be lucky if I don't end up like Lockhart when you're finished, or Neville's parents," Harry said.

"Just give him the bloody potion and be done with it!" bellowed Walburga's portrait.

"Please, Ms. Black," said Harry. "I want to see what he says first. I trust Kreacher and Dobby's work that he won't … leave before we're finished."

Dumbledore paled slightly. If Harry learned of things too quickly, before he had time to be prepared… "Harry, let me go; we need not drag this out any further."

"On the contrary, Professor," said Harry, "I want the answers you seem always unwilling to give, and I'll have them tonight, no later."

"Harry, what happened after we left Professor Slughorn's?" he asked.

"I waited till we arrived at Ottery St. Catchpole," Harry replied. "Once you turned around, I stunned you with as much power as I had. I knew that with you beside me, either the Ministry would not detect it or could assume that it was you. After all, there wouldn't be any Muggles around for them to claim I revealed myself to. They'd assume you were having the vaunted 'Boy-Who-Lived' show he could defend himself. Sadly from their view, I was taken out by a strong stunner."

"And how did we arrive … here?" he asked. "I assume of course this is Grimmauld Place."

"You assume correctly," said Harry. "And by the by, since Sirius turned it over to me, I was able to convince the wards to throw out any spells you may have slipped in to aid you," Harry replied calmly. "I also had it seal itself off from the outside world. The others will assume that with Sirius's death, it isn't quite safe yet to resume using it as a meeting place for the Order."

A moaning sound could be heard.

"Sadly, Dung didn't get the memo in time," said Harry chuckling lightly. 

"What have you done Harry?" he asked, slightly ashen, afraid that perhaps Harry had gone dark.

"Me? I've done nothing. I've simply allowed Kreacher to deal with thieves in my home as he has seen fit. I noticed you didn't deal with that man for leaving me to the Dementors. Really Dumbledore, you need to keep better people on hand for your crusades."

"Can Kreacher torture the traitorous Fletcher again, sir?" came the reply from the decrepit elf.

"Maybe later," said Harry. "I'd rather have what powers I have on hand in case Dumbledore here has a few more tricks on hand," said Harry. "Well, other than his nice wand.

"Not quiet my Phoenix feather wand, but it does have a nice kick to it," said Harry.

Albus paled even more at that. Harry had defeated him! That meant the Elder Wand saw him now as its rightful owner.

"And it did help with that ring you wore," said Harry. "My wand wasn't able to, but your wand was easily able to use the _Finite Incantatem _on it," he replied. "I didn't know I had the power to negate the … what was the curse named again, Ms. Black?"

"Curse of Withering," came her curt reply. Even Albus didn't miss the tone of respect in her voice. But whether it was for the curse itself or Harry now, he couldn't say.

"Yes," said Harry. "I looked it up in the Black Library," he continued. "No known cure or counter-curse. It did suggest that a curse that made the body swell with water to slow it. But I guess your wand is a bit different from others, eh?"

"And the ring?" he asked, still somewhat in shock. True, he had suspected that perhaps the Elder Wand could negate the powerful curse that had protected the horcrux. But it would need his magic to do so, magic that would speed the spread of the curse. And he was not quite ready to part with the sole Hallow he owned.

"I told you he wouldn't ask about his arm," said Harry, but to who, Dumbledore couldn't tell. "The ring is off your hand, dispelled from the curse. But what is so important about that ring?"

"I'm afraid I cannot say, Harry," he said, trying to gain some control over the situation.

"And can you say just how Voldemort found out about our link?" asked Harry. "Or do you expect me to believe that bilge Snape tried was actually to teach me to shield my mind?"

"I'm afraid I do not understand."

"We have Occlumency and Legimancy books in the library as well, fool," growled Walburga. "Even I don't believe that that traitor was teaching this half-blood bastard how to block his mind. Sounds more like he was trying to open it up."

"And as one who constantly claims to trust Snape with his life," said Harry, "I'm left to wonder how much of that little act you knew about."

"Are you certain it was not just your inability to progress towards blocking the Dark Lord, Harry?" he asked hopefully. He had a bit of hope as a moment of silence progressed from that question.

But alas, it was not a story to be bought. "Since it isn't any of the recommended styles of how to build mental shields, but is in fact listed as one of the ways to damage them in a developing student, I'd have to say 'no' to that hypothesis," said Harry coldly.

"Then perhaps I should have asked Severus to allow me to sit in on one of your tutoring sessions," he finally admitted. "It appears I have become too trusting in my old age."

Harry just chuckled. "Please sir, do you think me stupid? I imagine you wish me to be at a certain level. But I don't buy that for a moment."

"Harry?"

"Ms. Black and I had quite the discussion about your past actions towards me. We had started talking about Sirius. She was quite excited when she found out her supposed traitorous son had been dealing with a half-blood maniac who's done more to damage the pureblood agenda than anyone else."

"At least both of your parents were magical," grumbled the painting. 

"She's still a bit upset about that issue," admitted Harry. "But we've come to a compromise of sorts, though most of her side of the bargain was to be included when I questioned you."

"Do you honestly believe that this is the best way to go about things, Harry?"

"Considering our past and your usual double-speak, half truths, and blatant lies; yes, yes I do," Harry admitted. "Oh, and if your stalling in the hopes of calling for Fawkes to rescue you, I'm afraid that won't be happening."

Dumbledore audibly gasped. "What have you done?" To stop a phoenix, surely a sign of how dark Harry had become.

"Nothing," said Harry, as the trill of the phoenix was heard. "I struck a deal with him as well. You see, I'm certain he doesn't want to be seen as dirty either, but he is faithful to the supposed leader of the light. So, I made a proposition that he accepted.

"He's somewhat a barrister for you now," said Harry. "I don't doubt for a moment that I'll have to question you under the potion I acquired thanks to Kreacher and Dobby," Harry continued. "I won't tell you what it is, but I think we'll have fewer side effects to worry about, and I question how well you'd hold up against Veritaserum. I have the antidote on hand, but I don't want to take the risk until I am certain it would reveal something.

"You see, the deal was Fawkes would observe our chat. If we find out that you are truly innocent in what I think you've done or allowed, then I am his to do with as he pleases, though I imagine his anger for putting you through something this painful will be something I might regret later on. 

"However, if you are guilty, well, you can forget about any help from him for now on. From what I can tell, he won't like supporting someone … dark enough to pull such things off."

"We must all make sacrifices for the Greater Good," Albus said quietly.

"Perhaps," said Harry, as a sound reached Dumbledore's ears of someone walking towards him. "But," came the near whisper of Harry's voice into his ear, "I don't recall the rule stating such matters were to you to decide which and who should sacrifice.

"And I refuse to be a sacrificial lamb for the current society I see before me," he stated, as he walked around. "But that is a discussion for another time.

"Kreacher, administer the first potion."

"Yes Master," happily stated the elf, before Dumbledore felt something forced into his mouth.

"Time for perhaps the first honest and open chat we've had in our history."

* * *

Harry sat in the chair in the Black Library, staring at the crackling fire before him, his mind lost in thought about what he had learned.

Horcruxes, Hallows, plans set in motion before he was even born, the real story behind Snape; it was almost too much for him to bear.

But bear it he had to. No, he had come too far now to give in, to let down all those who had died to protect him.

His eyes slowly turned to the table beside his chair, only displaying two of the three Hallows: the ring and the wand.

Reaching out and grabbing the Elder Wand, he lifted it, feeling its power. He could see how such power would be tempting, a temptation Dumbledore had fallen to. He could never see forgoing his own wand for it. But perhaps he could use it for measures he was not up to yet.

Pointing it at the ring, he called upon his magic once again, pushing all he could towards the wand. He didn't have access to the Sword of Gryffindor yet, and wasn't about to risk going to Hogwarts to get it, since not only would the portraits notice it missing and tell someone, but Dumbledore had admitted to placing several spells around it to ensure it was never stolen.

He'd have to get it later then when he had time for a better plan than simply 'smash and grab'.

But if the Hallows were truly connected, if the Elder Wand had been strong enough to dispel an 'unbeatable' curse, then perhaps it could undo one other spell on the Hallow-turned-horcrux.

"_Finite Incantatem!_" he called, as he felt his magic lash out, striking at the magic that bonded the dark soul piece to the ring. It took nearly a minute, nearly draining him dry and forcing him unconscious, before he saw a mist rise from the ring, screaming at him. Pain lashed into his core as the image of Voldemort formed in the mist, before it broke apart, finally dying.

His hand dropped the Elder Wand, joining his other hand as they covered his scar, the pain from it dying as well.

"So the Old Fool was correct," commented Walburga. "That cursed scar given to you by that muggle-fathered bastard … is a possible horcrux as well."

Harry just nodded, his breath coming in deep gasps. He was very lucky to even be conscious at that point. But he had just confirmed what the supposed link between him and Voldemort truly was, the reason he could speak to snakes, even the reason his magical core was so much stronger than an average students: they didn't need to power the protections of blood wards as well as that surrounding a horcrux.

"Will you dispel that as well?" she asked.

"Not yet," said Harry. "I still need the window to observe him," he said, voice gaining strength. "It is his weakness now, not mine. When he is out of his other trinkets to stay his life, only then will I remove this last one."

"A plan worthy and devious like a Black," she admitted. "Perhaps your breeding wasn't completely botched."

He just sneered at her, as the two house elves arrived. Dobby was setting up a table for Harry to eat, wanting his master to quickly regain his strength, while Kreacher was holding a familiar locket.

"Is Master truly strong enough to destroy such things?" 

"Did you not see it yourself, you foolish elf!" bellowed the painting.

Harry ignored her, focusing on the locket. Dumbledore had said that he only knew for certain that a few things were horcruxes, and if that locket was truly Slytherin's as well. "Kreacher, explain to me how you came to hold such a thing?" he asked quietly, as Dobby moved the fully prepared table to the front of the chair. 

The elf slowly nodded, as it began its own tale.

* * *

After his meal, Harry took a short nap. He knew that sometime tomorrow, he'd have to return to the Burrow, as well as explain a few new changes in his life.

"So you are simply going to _Obliviate_ him and send him back?" asked the infamous portrait.

"His presence keeps Voldemort guessing," said Harry. "As long as he is present, Tom will be split between dealing with two perceived threats. Besides, I won't have time to try and locate the other items Tom used to hide his soul in. I'd rather leave the tedious tracking of those things to Dumbledore. Without the Withering Curse affecting his arm, it can be healed. And since his Hallow is gone, he'll be worried about his own standing. 

"You heard yourself, when Snape informed him about the curse he had already cosigned himself to death. I just need to leave something at that cave entrance that Dumbledore can 'find' on his search and think that someone else has taken care of the locket.

"We know of a few, and we can assume that Tom will make one more, since he doesn't know about me. He'll still believe he has one more left in him, which I can only assume will destabilize him further."

"How many remain?"

"The diary is gone. I've used the Elder Wand to kill the one in the ring and just finished the locket. I'm left, as well as probably a Ravenclaw item and Hufflepuff's Cup. Plus whenever he makes his supposed final one, I'll see that happen and know what it is as well. Albus did suspect it would be Nagini."

"And then?"

"And then I kill him. After that, I'm not quite certain. But I plan to live a long life after Voldemort is sent away for good. Perhaps I'll toss him through the Veil. I assume even if he has one I cannot find, his spirit won't come back from that."

He could tell she was impressed, even if she didn't show it. Considering what remained of the Black Line, she would barely admit he was far more deserving than those that remained. 

He doubted she would support Bellatrix, considering that the woman supported not only a half-blood, but someone who was using magic even the Blacks thought too dark, the reason such books were not in their own library. He suspected they might still be somewhere in the ancient manor, hidden long ago by an ancestor of the line. But it was obvious the location of such was never passed along. Perhaps he and the elves could search longer when Voldemort was dead. Albus had said he suspected that the resurrection of Tom had made him a bastardized horcrux for Harry. And to be honest, Harry definitely wanted to make certain at some point he wasn't going to slowly turn into a carnival reject as had the Dark Lord.

And Narcissa? Well, it was obvious the poor breeding that would result in someone like Draco was not from the Black side of the gene pool.

But she would never admit that even as a half-blood, he was still a far better heir than what remained.

But now he had to rest and prepare for tomorrow. Tomorrow he would need to wipe Dumbledore's memories with a potion, something to do what a skilled Obliviator could, but Harry could not. After that, leave some notes that the ring had been taken care of, the Elder Wand stripped from him as payment, and dump them near the Weasley home to be 'found'. Harry would need several items in the house to ensure that when Albus woke up, he didn't peer into Harry's mind and learn the truth.

No, as far as Albus should be concerned after tomorrow, a few things would be certain. He would have lost his prized Hallow, the ring would be removed, destroyed, and no longer a threat. His hand would be partially healed thanks to Fawkes's tears, and he would still be left with finding the other horcruxes and their locations, while continuing his 'plan' to get Harry to sacrifice himself for Dumbledore's self-proclaimed idea of the Greater Good.

Oh how poorly that last idea was going to be when Harry finished with them all. Oh, they expected to save them from their own follies. He would, but not the way they would want. When he finished, at least the Wizarding World would be hard-pressed to allow someone like Tom to grow again.

"I wonder if I should befriend some Slytherins, just to fuck with him," mumbled Harry.

"Nothing wrong with being ambitious," she added. "Sadly, the House has fallen away from those ideals, more desiring easy power than making their own, not like during Phineas's time."

Harry just nodded, adding it to the long and constantly growing list of things he had taken as constant and needed further consideration.

"And Snape?"

"If he thinks he can get into my mind again, I'll have no problem with unleashing some of your suggested mental barriers against him." Say what you liked, the Blacks did come up with some very … unpleasant methods of Occlumency.

"Very well then, have the elf place me back at my spot, and get some rest. You have much to do tomorrow."

Harry nodded as he rose up from his seat, feeling drained from all the magic he had been forced to use that day. Who knew what tomorrow would bring. But at least now he knew more of what to finally expect.

"Kreacher, please place your former Mistress's portrait back on her wall. And do ensure you place some silencing charms around the cell Fletcher is in. I don't want to be woken up by his screams tonight."

"Of course, Master," said the smiling house elf.

"When we leave tomorrow, drop him off at St. Mungo's. Leave a note on him stating that thieves shouldn't steal from Ancient and Noble houses. If we're most fortunate, they may send him to Azkaban for us. I'm sure you'd rather he be tortured for a longer time that what your tender mercies would allow."

The elderly elf appeared upset that his fun would end tomorrow, but brightened up with the thought of Dung being tortured by Dementors. "As you wish, Master."

Nodding, Harry made his way to his bedroom, Sirius's former room. No sense of letting the former headmaster of Hogwarts that sat in his old room, know the house was being used once more by him.

That would be another surprise he hoped to be around to show when the time came. 


	3. Harry Potter and the Soul Charge

**Harry Potter and the Soul Charge**

Disclaimer: I don't own this series or any other series. I am just floating an idea. I am making no money, nor plan to, off this venture. If you think of suing me over this, then grow up.

I would like to first personally thank all of those reviewing my stories. I enjoy reading your comments, and try to correct the grammatical errors I miss with my final read-through as well as my spell checkers. The suggestions you all make will help make this story better for everyone to enjoy, as well as allow my to fix some plot holes I may unintentionally leave. If you find any, let me know, and I will correct them and repost the chapters.

Please feel free to review, and make comments. If you find a spelling or wordage mistake, feel free to let me know. Thank you.

* * *

_You know, the most confusing thing about what has happened to me is not what led up to it, nor is it the actually event itself; it is keeping my pronouns straight._

Harry sighed as he read another of his recent purchases from the ill-famed Knockturn Alley. He had been quite amazed at what he had found at several book stores in that rundown area.

Why? Because the remnants of the security charms on them labeled them as belonging to a former faithful follower of Lord Voldemort who was killed by Aurors in 1978.

How did he know this? It is quite simple when you absorbed the soul fragment of said Dark Lord.

Dementors; the bloody things are nothing but trouble for one known as Harry James Potter, a.k.a. the Boy Who Lived. They had nearly de-souled Sirius, attacked him personally three times—something he planned to spend more time looking into when he was better prepared.

They also shook a poorly sealed ill-made horcrux loose that had been lodged inside of Harry Potter's cursed scar and allowed it to be fully absorbed by his soul.

It was something that would have happened eventually anyway, the flaw with sealing a soul fragment inside a living object with a soul of their own. It was somewhat like a descending moon towards a planet. The fragment would orbit, affecting the soul—in Harry's case it had given him a boost to his magic reserves and the ability to speak with snakes. But eventually, the moon would come tumbling down and impact the planet.

Harry had just been lucky that his soul was strong enough to ward off a full possession by the embittered part of Riddle. Maybe it was because his was a whole soul, maybe because his life had made him be an exact opposite of Tom, maybe because of any number of reasons that no one would ever think of.

It happened, he was better for it, he moved on. The old Harry would have spent the summer sulking that he had the life and times of a psychopath in his head.

The new Harry had used what he had learned to make his relatives believe they bought tainted food and had contaminated water, as well as used his vault funds to pilfer some needed supplies from Knockturn. It was also where he learned that apparently the faithful followers of the Dark Lord hadn't turned over everything that they had sworn to have done, if the dark tomes he had collected were any indication.

He did wonder if this perhaps made him Dark. Probably did, but he wasn't evil. No, that was saved for idiots like Death Eaters, Voldemort, several school chums and assorted teachers, and a good bit of the Ministry. He was a little suspicious about Dumbledore now, more so from Tom's memories than his own, but it bore watching. It was always the enemy you didn't suspect that got you in the end.

Then of course came what was the happiest moment in his young life—at least until he found a way to shag a bird without leaving a Potter behind: the Quidditch World Cup, or more importantly, the events after said battle. Nothing quite conveys your expression of joy at banishing a constant thorn in your ass into a flock of Death Eaters drunk on power and probably ill-gotten Fire Whiskey. Not a bad night overall: got a few Floo addresses, banished Draco across a field, hit a few drunks Death Eaters with a nice couple of curses that will make peeing difficult for the next few months, and made off with not one but now two house elves under your employee.

_I get a vision of Barty Jr. with Wormtail and his father fires their house elf on a night she was acting strange; coincidence I'm sure._ He would have bonded them to himself—a bit more loyalty, power boost for them—but then he would have suffered two things.

One, Hermione's speeches on House Elf Enslavement.

Two, unbonded house elves have a bit more leeway in where they go and what they can do.

"Bloody hilarious!" cried out Ron, drawing his attention away from the book he had been reading—glamoured enough to keep even his Royal Greasiness from trying to take it under some obscure rule.

The twins—or at least a greatly older version of the two Weasley brothers—were currently wrestling on the floor about their failed attempt for the Goblet. Nothing like the sight of when wards react badly to magic.

Ron just shook his head with a smile. "Kind of hoped it would work, want to sign up myself."

Harry could only shake his head at that. Riddle had known a bit about the Tournament, mainly because he had considered using the Goblet as a horcrux at one point. And all things equal, Harry was hoping for a year where it wasn't a fight for his life.

Of course, it didn't mean he couldn't be a little Dark and help Ron and a few others learn to be careful what you wish for. "Well, there is a way," he admitted slyly.

"What? Really? Are you going to use it?" asked Ron excitedly.

"Not a bloody chance," Harry waved off, putting his book inside his bag. "I'd like one quiet year, thank you." He was also noting more than a few faces focused on himself, hoping he'd spill how to get around the Goblet's wards.

"Come on, mate!" pleaded Ron.

Shrugging, Harry stood up, and began walking towards the Goblet. "Dumbledore left two big holes in the wards," Harry commented. "One, you could just use something non-conductive to hold the papers, long enough for you to stand on the other side of the wards holding it, and let them go."

"And the other?" asked a hopeful Third Year.

Smirking, Harry grabbed the papers from the Weasley Twins, and walked over to a Seventh Year Slytherin. "I'll give you three galleons to toss these in there," he said with a smirk. "After all, no one said it had to be you putting your own name in there, just that the person crossing the wards had to be."

"And what if I get thrown out?" grumbled the Slytherin.

"Then I'll buy you a new broom," said Harry, "even one better than mine."

The seventh-year set a new speed record, racing through the Age Line, tossing in the papers, and out. Even Harry noticed he looked somewhat upset at the fact he was allowed to do what Harry had claimed.

"Don't be too down, mate," said Harry, putting the three coins into the man's hand. "I imagine a lot of students will be happy to cough up a galleon or two to get their name in there. Might be even able to afford a new broom on your own after that."

Even as he walked away with a smirk, he couldn't help but hear the others rushing to the older boy to do them that favor.

* * *

"Mr. Potter."

Harry just smiled as he turned back towards his Head of House. "Yes, Professor?"

"A moment," she said, waiting for the rest of the groups of students to file out of the hallway before she spoke to him in a nearby classroom; despite that a few seemed to be taking a bit longer than usual to leave, hoping to catch whatever was said. When they had finally departed, she turned back to him after shutting the door.

"I am most disappointed in you, Mr. Potter, helping people break the rules."

"Which rules?" asked Harry.

"The rules about the competition for the Tri-wizard tournament," she said, lips narrowing.

"But I didn't," said Harry.

"And how did you reach that conclusion, Mr. Potter?"

"Simple, if they had been serious about those rules, they would have taken precautions against the simple ways I got past them," Harry replied. "At the very least, they would have charmed the Goblet to either spit out names that weren't tossed in by the person on the sheet or spit back any paper whose name wasn't the correct age," he replied. "Since they didn't, I assumed that it was okay to get around their protections."

"Be that is it may, do you realize how many students could get hurt?"

"That depends on if the Goblet will do its job and pick out the most qualified of each school," said Harry. "Otherwise I'm just letting them dream; nothing wrong with that."

He had her trapped and he knew it. He knew of several charms that even if only applied to the Age Line would have done what he said. So she either had to admit they had been lazy or that they had been forgetful. Either way, he couldn't be blamed without them admitting fault or that the Goblet was faulty.

"You may go, Mr. Potter," she said, eyes closed. "But do come to me the next time you find … holes in our precautions please before informing the student population."

Smiling, he nodded and left the classroom. Sure, it may have been the ego of Riddle that pulled off that act, but it was nice to be able for once to rightfully point out **their** mistakes.

Besides, he didn't have time for any tournament this year. He needed to prepare some potions, fetch a basilisk fang, and prepare for a summer hunting horcruxes to ensure that Riddle's specter could easily move on to the next life. Granted, he didn't know how long it would take for the soul fragment's connection his soul had eaten to lose what could keep Riddle anchored to this world. "Most likely," he mused as he walked towards the Great Hall for dinner, "I'll find out when the bastard just fades away," he smirked.

* * *

Harry just glared as the 'adults' discussed his inclusion in the tournament. He was pretty certain that he was going to have to kill someone now. The question was who? Obviously Barty had a hand in this. Malfoy might be tempted to put Harry's name in, but the twit would be more interested in his own glory rather than Harry's failure.

Besides, the staleblood prat didn't know the first thing about getting past the Age Line to make the Goblet spit out a fourth name. So in all likelihood that this was a plot by the Dark Lord, unless this was all some attempt to prop up the image of the Golden Boy—or the idea of a halfwit to get him killed and claim responsibility for the job with no other effort, then why would Riddle want him in the Tournament?

Riddle obviously had a … little body issue at the moment. _Good one, I'll have to make up a few jokes for when I see his Hissiness again._

_Wait; there were some plans … plans in case his body was trashed too badly to fix, to grant him a new one._ Harry racked his brain, wishing his mental arts had gone a bit farther in the summer with organizing his new memories and knowledge, trying to remember what ceremonies the former Dark Lord had researched to bring himself back in a new form.

"If anyone's got a reason to complain, it's Potter," growled Moody. "But … funny thing … I don't hear him saying a word."

Harry turned to face them once again. "And why should I? It's quite obvious you've made up your minds that I did this on purpose. Defending myself won't do much," he said. "Besides, in the end, you'll all blame me anyway."

"And why should we believe you," said Karkaroff, glaring at the boy.

Harry smirked as he raised his wand. "I Harry James Potter do swear that I did not place my name into the Goblet of Fire, nor did I ask for others to do it for me!" The others were shocked that not only had Harry performed an oath that could leave him in pain equal to the Cruciatus Curse if broken, but that he had done so now.

"Always showing off, Potter," sneered Snape.

"I can it saving my ass, call it what you will," he said with a glare right back, turning when he felt the Potions Professor try and pry into his mind. "I trust an announcement will be made that I did not enter this tournament willingly," he said. "Last thing I need is my classmates glaring at me again because rumors were not squashed quickly and effectively."

Bagman wiped his face once again. "Well, I suppose we could mention it."

Harry just snorted as he returned to looking out the window. Pissed didn't even begin to describe his mood at the moment. He was supposed to be preparing to take out Tom's little talismans, not fight in a rigged game. And with more eyes on him, sneaking off to secure the items for later destruction would be all but impossible aside from the Diadem. That also meant practicing to Apparate where he could get help if he failed was also shot. Now he was stuck doing things he could make time for: reading glamoured books and organizing Riddle's darker memories in hopes of finding out why someone put him in this waste of time. Plus he had to figure out what spells he could use in the tasks without arousing suspicions. The last thing he wanted was someone with a brain thinking that they should take a peek in his memories, whether he allowed it or not.

* * *

"Go ahead and ask?" grumbled Harry, as he and Cedric neared the entrance to the Great Hall.

"Ask what?" replied the nervous Hufflepuff.

"You know damn well what," said Harry with a menacing growl. "You think I expect that little oath in there to dispel the rumors? It's the damned 'Heir of Slytherin' fiasco all over again."

Cedric paused a bit, before he turned to face him. "Well then, how could it have happened?"

"Best way was the one Moody mentioned," said Harry.

"And could you have pulled it off?"

He had to think for a moment. To confound an object of that power, it would take almost an Auror-level power level. So yes, he could have done it. "There's a difference between could I and would I," he replied. "I've got enough on my plate without this, and just because Crouch said I have to compete doesn't mean there isn't a way for me to get out of this. As soon as I can find one of those rule books, I'm going over it." If there was one thing Riddle had learned, it was that purebloods tended to write the laws, and they always left a loophole in everything that they might need. Lucius was an ass, but no one could play the system better than him.

_I doubt he'd take up my case though._

Taking a deep breath, Cedric turned back to him. "I'll tell them what you said and did in there, might take some of the heat off of you."

"Thank you," Harry replied honestly. But he understood that even if he had a way to show them his memories of the last day—assuming Dumbledore would allow him to use his Pensieve—not one person would believe him. But having the school Champion who many would say you were trying to outshine stick up for you was bound to change a few glares at least. "I'm not going to put much faith in their announcement tomorrow morning, given how much of a smashing job they did when everyone said I was controlling Slytherin's beast."

"Not much for authority figures, are you?" said Cedric with a chuckle.

"They have a nasty habit of leaving me hanging," Harry said with a shrug. "And let's face it, other than Lupin last year, we can't really call some of their ideas of a proper Defense teacher as great choices."

Diggory chuckled a bit. "Too true, you should have seen the few we had before you came." His chuckles grew as Harry shuddered comically. "Well, I better be off then, see you later, and good luck."

As he watched the Hufflepuff head off to his own dorm, Harry's smile quickly faded. Luck? He didn't need luck; that was reserved for the bastard who set this up when Harry found him.

No, what he needed was a safe place to practice an Unforgivable to express his displeasure…

A loud smack was heard as Harry closed his eyes, his cheek feeling the sting of what he had done to stop that dark train of thought. Unforgivables were what Riddle used, and he was not Riddle. He was Harry Potter.

And Harry Potter could surely think of more creative ways to make said bastard pay for this.

_Maybe I should become some odd Grey Lord or whatnot, just to mess with them all. But if I attacked everyone lacking common sense, there'd be no one left in the Wizarding World._

Chuckling to himself, Harry made his way to his own House. He just wondered how many up there would believe him, and how many just wouldn't care. Somehow, he just knew the latter group would be larger than the former.


	4. Harry Potter and the American Revolution

**Harry Potter and the American Revolution**

Disclaimer: I don't own this series or any other series. I am just floating an idea. I am making no money, nor plan to, off this venture. If you think of suing me over this, then grow up.

Please feel free to review, and make comments. If you find a spelling or wordage mistake, feel free to let me know. Thank you.

* * *

"I must say this is great tea," said Sirius Black, former escaped fugitive from Azkaban, and current appointee to the American Ministry.

"Glad you enjoy it," said Marcus Richards, current Secretary of Magical Affairs of the United States, second only to the president. "I find the sugar adds a bit to the blend."

"Eastern or Western?"

"A blend of both," said the man. "Had a botanist crossbreed some of my favorite tea plants and well…"

"Ah," said Sirius. "So, I take it there is a reason you called me here?"

Marcus nodded.

"And a reason twelve details of Aurors were placed around Harry's school?"

Marcus smiled. It was hard to do hidden protection of the Potter child with Sirius about. "Yes, you do realize what happens next September, do you not?"

Sirius paled.

Marcus could only chuckle. "You did not forget some important date for Maria."

The grim animagus sighed at that. Veela girlfriends were great, but Merlin helped you if you forgot an important date. "Then what?"

"Hogwarts."

Sirius's smile dimmed at that. He was mentioning Hogwarts; that meant… "Harry is turning eleven this year," he mused.

Marcus nodded. It was no secret that Sirius was very disillusioned both with the British system as well as his former leader from the Order of the Phoenix. He had after all spent nearly two years inside Azkaban, waiting for said leader to release him or at least ensure a trial where he could be found innocent. How could he protect Harry from Peter if he was locked up?

But the Americans had thankfully gotten him out. A scenario had been constructed of what to do if the teams had been captured or seen while performing the operation. The best option came from a law made by the British Purebloods in 1872.

"_Any prisoner in custody must be tried no more than three weeks after capture—three months in times of internal strife or war—or be immediately released. If charges are not filed and prosecuted fairly by that time, then the person is declared free and cannot be prosecuted on those particular crimes again."_

In other words, thanks to something a pureblood needed to keep out of prison in Austria, they had violated the rules dealing with Sirius, and given the Americans legal freedom to extract 'a person of high interest' from their vaunted prison, if their acts were ever revealed. The fact it was also done at the same time as both the extraction of Remus Lupin—who no one reported missing aside from his Muggle boss—and Harry James Potter—Dumbledore only apparently noticed when the Blood Wards came crashing down at Privet Drive—was a nice little touch. Apparently those wards were tied not only into Harry's blood, but his seeing what his true home was. When he found a new home in America, those wards had collapsed and attracted the Headmaster's attention.

It had been nearly a year before word leaked out that the trio were living well in the United States under their real names. The only reason they had been exposed was a reporter from the Daily Prophet had gathered some interesting news from a Muggle-born who had gone to look at the local magic schools in preparation for a move with his family. He hadn't even known that the child playing with his young daughter in one of the photos he forced the reporter to see was of a famous green-eyed kid with a scar.

By the time the British had a grasp on what might have occurred—including one confused Supreme Mugwump—the Americans delivered the transcripts and memories of a trial of one Sirius Orion Black, which was concluded with revealing that the Potter Secret Keeper had been Peter Pettigrew. Said trial had come about because one Sirius Black had requested it be part of the deal in exchange for him 'turning himself in' to the American Aurors. As a result, they had been able to also get the Goblins to publicly release the Potter Will and have Sirius declared Harry's legal guardian as well as issue an international warrant for the arrest of the 'illegal' rat animagus Peter Pettigrew.

The British had been angry, demanding to know why this information and trial had been held back. The Americans had simply responded that they had never been informed Sirius was an escaped convict until he turned himself in, nor had the British answered their requests for records from his 'first' trial to negate Sirius's claim that he had never received one. As such, they had to work under the assumptions offered by him and proceed accordingly as dictated by the ICW Accords.

The fact that this was all done during the opening ceremony at Hogwarts that year was purely coincidental as far as the Americans would admit. Sirius himself stayed away from all matters British to ensure he never ended up on trial for a 'new charge' with the British—sore losers that they were.

"So you think they'll try to get Harry again?" asked Sirius, nearly growling. There had already been several attempts to kidnap Harry, usually in the form of other governments and a majority of the assaults backed by British galleons. There had been only one Death Eater assault, ending with the poor fools who had actually not been under some form of coercion or mind control now sharing cells with some American Wizards of questionable moral and sexual preferences. Sirius and Remus's only regret was that a certain blond-haired ponce hadn't been among the captured.

The fact that Yaxley was among them was a small bit of joy; several of their dead friends were rumored to have been slain in part by the man.

"Perhaps," said Marcus, sipping his tea. "I think they might try something considering they planned a meeting in a few minutes."

"What?" yelled Sirius, standing up quickly, his cup of tea only being saved by Marcus's wandless magic.

"Do be careful Sirius, this carpet is hard to clean well, even with magic."

"You're allowing those bastards here … on American soil?" he asked.

Marcus nodded. "They went through the proper channels to arrange a meeting, even with the red tape we had placed just for them and just for these circumstances.

"Pity, I enjoyed the quiet, but it looks like the Congress of Magic will need to add some lines or strike the law depending on how the meeting goes."

"And just why am I here then?" he asked, still slightly in shock that a few people he loathed more than his biological family would soon be near him.

"Payback for what you and Remus did to me at last year's Christmas party."

"Hey, your hair grew back!"

"And I admit, I felt like you would enjoy watching them squirm as they tried to repatriate young Harry, or at least tried to get us to release him to their tender mercies."

"Bloody fat chance of that," growled Sirius. He remembered all too well the medical reports of what shape Harry had been in when he had been brought to the Americans medical facilities on the ship the forces had been based on. If Harry was sent back to them, he **would** do some things in England worthy of being sent to Azkaban, and be damned proud of it too.

"I agree," said Marcus. "I do believe that the fools still believe only they have any people capable of making predictions. It is why we involved ourselves in your affairs to begin with."

"I will always be grateful to you for that," said Sirius. It may have started out for partially selfish reasons by the Americans, but at least the reasons were a lot more humane now. For all he knew, the Americans had their own prophecies concerning Harry's future. He had no doubt that a few of their supporters were making plans for Harry when—not if—he became an important political figure within the Wizarding World.

That of course was based on the possibility that Sirius and Remus failed to get Harry a magical harem—James would have wanted that, mainly Veela and wood nymphs if possible.

Lily would have made the former Marauders all eunuchs for even trying such, but thankfully she was dead and thus unable to unman them.

They offered prayers to Prongs and hoped his suffering was minimal because of their hopes and plans.

"So who's coming?" asked Sirius, grabbing his floating teacup and heading towards the windows, staring out at the visages of Washington DC.

"Dumbledore of course, the Head of the Wizengamot won't be missing from such a meeting."

Sirius snorted at that. "Guy has so many jobs, I'm surprised he even knows what day it is and whose strings to pull half the time."

Marcus nodded. "Then we have the current Minister, Cornelius Fudge."

Sirius nodded. "I've heard a bit about him from what contacts I still have there; a major boob who can be bought pretty easily."

Marcus nodded. "Our investigations turned up that he is apparently in the pocket of your cousin-in-law Lucius Malfoy, and might have had a hand in quite a few 'pardons due to Imperius'."

Sirius snorted at that. "The only family I ever accepted was Andromeda and her family, and as soon as I find a way around Mother's little banishment, they're going back on the tree. I still haven't decided if Cissy will end up blasted off with Bella."

Marcus nodded. "And finally, Head of the DMLE, Amelia Susan Bones."

"I knew of her," said Sirius. "Her brother Edgar spoke highly of her before the Death Eaters got him. She's an honorable lady, but I doubt she can do much in her job, not when most of the policy of who gets caught and who gets saved is up to those other bastards."

Marcus nodded. "Sirius, I can only have you here as Harry's legal guardian. But if you're worried you might lose control of your anger here, I can switch you out with Remus."

Sirius took in a deep breath, before closing his eyes and finishing off his tea, releasing his breath and opening his eyes once again. "I'll be fine, I can do this for Harry. And I want to be around when we send the bloody prats back to London with a song in our hearts and a tear on their faces."

Marcus nodded, hoping that his friend was an ally in this upcoming battle, and not a liability. They could ill-afford that at the moment.

* * *

Dumbledore tried to hide the simple awe he felt as the American wizards escorted him to the Secretary.

For many in Europe, the Americas had been a dumping ground for Squibs, Muggle-born, and destitute purebloods since their founding. And in the eyes of the purebloods in power, nothing ever important would come from such a mix, so why bother monitoring it.

Grindelwald changed that. While not very involved if at all during what the Muggles referred to as the First World War, they had been paramount in the second during Grindelwald's power. It had been what remained of the French Ministry that had requested help from the Americans, citing an obscure charter and treaty forged during the Muggle American's bid for independence. The British Wizards had mainly stayed out of it—if it didn't touch our soil, we don't care. They had even 'reluctantly' allowed them to set up several boats to use as transportation points to and from the mainland.

Albus had to sigh at what followed next, as many books in the Americas questioned his late involvement, sighting that many American Auror platoons had already cracked and destroyed many of Grindelwald's wards and forces, and were close to even challenging the Dark Wizard himself. Like Rita Skeeter would have, they speculated that his arrival and subsequent defeat of Grindelwald was an attempt by the British Wizarding Society to steal the glory and suffer none of the pain or cost.

It wasn't the truth as far as Dumbledore was concerned and many in Europe ignored those rumors from America, deciding that their 'trash' was simply misinformed. But Dumbledore wasn't about to admit the real reason he had been able to get so close to the infamous Dark Wizard so quickly. No, the Light needed a leader, and the truth about his own past would rob them of that.

The Americans' involvement had also caused the political faces of magical Europe to change drastically. For many of the areas, purebloods elitists were weeded out. The only survivors were the ones whose parents had sent their children out of the country before Grindelwald's forces invaded—as the Dark Lord had found them 'lacking' in his ideals and executed the parents, leaving the children with their properties. And those that remained alive during the American occupation were usually deposed of as traitors for supporting the Dark Wizard, and only those who had worked of their free will for Grindelwald's empire. Those areas not controlled by Soviet Wizards had been a bit more … equal.

But unlike many places still in the world, that equality stayed, despite the occasional pureblood attempt to 'return to tradition'. In fact, many magical discoveries—oddly enough made in the Americas but still under 'testing' status in England and a few more of the 'traditional' areas of Europe—had been shared. It had only been recently that even the Ministry itself was using electrical lights designed to work in a magical environment.

And that was only because several high-ranking officials had 'lost' their billing invoices for payment to torches as they were being delivered.

He could tell that Amelia was taking this all in, no doubt making plans to contact her own counterpart here afterwards and see what programs she might be able to implement back in Britain. Training methods were one thing she could change without 'consulting' certain people. As such, she would likely use this excursion to expand the hopeful effectiveness of England's own forces. He did have hopes that she wouldn't allow herself to be swayed into sending her niece to the local schools. They would be hard pressed to make a case for Harry to attend Hogwarts if one of their group was moved to send her charge her instead.

Fudge on the other hand was sweating nervously, playing with his bowler hat, and mentally going over his planned points. Albus was quite certain that if he could, the Minister would have brought over several 'consultants' to assist him, either the Under Secretary or perhaps Lucius Malfoy.

_At least that problem was stopped._ Fortunately those two had been unable to acquire the needed permission to enter the country. The last thing Dumbledore needed now was more gremlins in his clockworks. It was very important that they returned Harry Potter to England. There was a destiny waiting for him there, and if they could not get him to it, well, Albus didn't want to admit how badly that might go. The Ministry was still reeling from the fallout from Sirius Black being found innocent—in the ICW and the American Courts no less when the Ministry had written him off as guilty without trial, not to mention Potter's relocation out of the country.

Few people enjoyed the fact that their supposed national treasure had been whisked off and his guardians basically saying they would never return. They had become even more upset when it was reported—though Albus suspected the Americans had leaked the information—that Harry's guardians until his removal had been treating the child … quite poorly. Even if it had been for the Greater Good, Albus found himself working quickly to minimize his own perceived wrongdoings in the matter, trying to show that it had been a necessary evil to ensure Harry's safety and that several methods that had been put in place to ensure Harry's treatment had been 'damaged by what appeared to be fits of strong accidental magic'.

Some had believed it, but he had taken a major blow in political clout, and had only barely survived a vote to strip him of his position within the ICW—the vote that was started by the American delegation.

"They simply have to see reason," said Fudge, as he began pacing once again. He really wished that he could have procured enough resources to send an Auror team to simply … rescue young Harry. But he couldn't find one volunteer after what happened to the last group.

One man still couldn't be near a stuffed animal of any sorts.

"That is why we are here today, Cornelius," said Albus calmly, his eyes filled with their usual twinkle. "After all, I'm sure they can be reasoned with."

"Americans? Reasonable?" asked Fudge, as if Dumbledore had just told him that the Dark Lord was a Muggle-born.

"It has been known to happen," said Albus. "Why, the French Minister often talks about his trips to this country." What was left unsaid was that the man usually hinted at visiting a Veela community near New Orleans. "Besides, surely they will see that Hogwarts is what his parents would have wanted."

"From what I understand," said Amelia, looking over a book she had purchased when they had arrived at the International Portkey Terminal, "he's been attending Salem since the age of five."

Fudge balked at that. "Impossible!"

Directing her gaze at him, she stared for a moment. "They test for magical qualities of Muggles at birth, and begin schooling them at that age."

"But what about magical core levels and such?"

She could only shake her head. Those tests were nothing but a hoax most pureblood families used to keep muggle-born from learning about magic until Hogwarts started, so as to give their own children a better chance to 'prove their superiority'.

"Perhaps we have much to learn here as well, Cornelius," said Dumbledore, trying to head off a possible argument. "I believe we should instead for the moment, focus more on our arguments to ensure young Harry is allowed to attend Hogwarts this upcoming year."

Oh yes, he knew he would have to work hard. Flamel had already acquiesced to keeping the Philosopher's Stone at Hogwarts. But his plan would require Harry to attend. If need be, he had decided to perhaps reveal part of the necessary prophecy. He just hoped whatever it took was something he could do; a Greater Good was at stake.

Once again, he cursed himself for the failures with his first plan. If nothing else, he hoped to at least learn during this meeting why the Americans had finally decided to place themselves in British Affairs. He was not certain how much of the story they had released to the world was faked, but he would not go lobbing accusations around. He needed to get Harry to Hogwarts and along the path of destiny to end Voldemort forever.

"The Secretary will see you now," said the man before them behind a desk.

"Thank you," said Albus as he and the others stood up.

It was time to try and return Harry to England.

* * *

Omake by ShinjitheGoodSharer:

Secretary: "If you want to have Mr. Potter go to your school then i'm  
afraid you must pass the... test."  
Dumbledore: "A test?"  
Secretary: "No Dumbledore. The... test. Are you sure you want this?"  
the three nod while the man takes their wands and puts them in a large  
box made of bullet proof glass with tubes of the same material coming  
from the walls. "You must spend one hour for each member of your party  
inside that box as the first part of your test and all three of you  
must remain conscious without the use of magic." when all three nod he  
smiles psychoticially "Release the angry bludgers!"  
British Reps: "WHAT?!"  
-The following is censored due to Brock Sampson-like brutality and  
violence.-

* * *

Omake by dogbertcarroll:

That of course was based on the possibility that Sirius and Remus  
failed to get Harry a magical harem—James would have wanted that.

Lily would have made the former Marauders all eunuchs for even trying  
such, but thankfully she was dead and thus unable to unman them.

They offered prayers to Prongs and hoped his suffering was minimal  
because of their hopes and plans.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"Yes! Yes!" James danced around cheering as he watched the thoughts of  
his two best friends.

"What are you going on about?" Lilly Potter asked, with a half eyebrow  
cocked at her husband's strange behavior.

"Ummm. Nothing," he said, trying to avoid upsetting his wife who would  
surely have problems with her son gaining a harem.

"Don't you 'nothing' me James Potter! I know very well that with you  
'nothing' is always something and if you come clean now I'll... well  
since I have no idea what you've done I can't really say what I'll do,  
but I'll go easier on you if you fess up now."

James quickly thought of an excuse. "Well it's nothing I've done love,  
but the most wonderful thing has just happened. Do you remember  
worrying that Harry would never settle down and that Dumbledore was  
trying to get him an Oedipus complex by throwing that Weasley girl at  
him?"

Lilly nodded cautiously.

"Well, Moony and Padfoot have decided that Harry needs more love in  
his life and he's always dreamed of having a big family, so they're  
planning to get him a harem. Why I bet he'll have at least a dozen  
children in just a year or two!"

"I can't believe you'd think..." Lilly trailed off for a moment. "A  
dozen?"

"At least."

"Lord knows my poor baby needs love in his life after what that  
bearded idiot put him through and it's not like it's anything  
illegal..."


	5. Harry Potter and the Star Brother

**Harry Potter and the Star Brother**

Disclaimer: I don't own this series or any other series. I am just floating an idea. I am making no money, nor plan to, off this venture. If you think of suing me over this, then grow up.

I would like to first personally thank all of those reviewing my stories. I enjoy reading your comments, and try to correct the grammatical errors I miss with my final read-through as well as my spell checkers. The suggestions you all make will help make this story better for everyone to enjoy, as well as allow my to fix some plot holes I may unintentionally leave. If you find any, let me know, and I will correct them and repost the chapters.

* * *

Inspired by the great science fiction writer Ben Bova's book, **"Voyagers 3: Star Brothers".**

* * *

Albus Dumbledore entered his office, tired more from preparing for the next year of Hogwarts than the current one. After all, next year was to bring the famous Boy-Who-Lived to his school, as well as any remainders of Voldemort's forces to try and avenge their master.

Turning slightly, he tried not to think of any plans for next year. There was something else her was more concerned with at the moment: that one Harry James Potter was still more than capable of not only receiving his acceptance letter from Hogwarts but attending. It would be very poor luck if Harry was unable to attend for whatever reasons; a possibility that could not be allowed.

But his eyes quickly narrowed as he spotted one particular instrument, one that told him how strong the blood wards were around Privet Drive.

The wards were days away at best from collapsing! But how could that be? Even if Harry failed to get the required love from his Aunt to sustain the wards, the love between mother and son should have allowed the two Squibs to fill that requirement. True, Harry would have been but the battery to power the wards, but his protection was paramount to even his emotional well-being.

Standing quickly, he made his way to the fireplace, tossing in some Floo powder as he called out the name of his agent nearest the Dursley home. "Arabella Figg!" The flames turned green, as the Floo Network attempted to contact the lone Squib within the former Order of the Phoenix.

Soon, the face of an elderly woman appeared in the flames, looking around before finally settling on the figure of Albus Dumbledore. "Albus, to what do I owe this summons?" she asked.

"Arabella, I fear there is a problem with the Dursleys," he said. "The blood wards protecting young Harry are about ready to collapse. Has anything happened to the boy to keep him from his protection?"

The woman appeared nervous, looking to either side, as if afraid she would be spied upon, before staring directly at the man. "Albus, have you not been reading a single word of my reports?" she asked.

"My dear lady, alas I have but perused them to assure young Harry was in good health," he said sadly. Truthfully, he had found little need to read those reports, given that his devices would have informed him if something was wrong. "Obviously, in my old age, I forgot that the little details oft matter the most."

"Then come over, Albus. It seems you have neglected much. Young Harry has not lived at the Dursley home, nor graced my own, in nearly a year!"

* * *

_Four years ago…_

Young Harry Potter, age six, huddled near a tree, trying to keep warm. His relatives, in all their wisdom—something he highly doubted they had much of, let alone any worth something—had locked him out of the house for failing to finish his outside chores in time for their bed.

He counted himself lucky it was summer. Harry had little hope for surviving the cold nights that could be the extreme of the seasons and nights of Fall to Spring. It was summer now, and thus the nights were not as cold as they could be, but neither were they as warm and humid as they could be. It was just his luck that the current heat spell had ended, and the lower temperatures of that night had made being outside in shorts and a sweat-stained t-shirt to be a bad idea.

He couldn't even stay in the yard. The Dursleys had said if he did, they would call the police on him, claim he was some homeless ragamuffin, and send him away to be abused by burley men in prison. Harry didn't know if they would, but he had tried it one night, hanging out near the vent for the dryer Aunt Petunia had been forced to use as she wouldn't let Harry back inside to do the chores they demanded.

The cops hadn't been called, but he had spent two whole days in the closet for it. And now in a similar situation again, he decided that not having the option to go to the bathroom for two days was not worth the trouble of sleeping near the heat source once again. Besides, he had done laundry yesterday; the Dursleys would not dare run it again now.

The local park had been the best option, a nearby heat exhaust vent from the office's air-conditioner offered enough warmth to keep him from freezing too much, but not enough to bake him that night.

Smiling that his option for sleep was also hidden from the prying eyes of people who not only would not help him, but speak in such ways that it got back to his Aunt and Uncle so they could punish him, he laid down and slowly fell to sleep, ignoring how uncomfortable it was to sleep on such ground.

He never noticed a streak of light headed right near him from the sky above.

* * *

Dumbledore looked on, disillusioned and standing next to his source in the area.

"Those two vans," Arabella pointed out to him, vehicles of Muggle design stationed across from Number 4. "They're the national news vans, probably one of them from the tabloids—something that would make that Skeeter woman seem honest. They've been there is some form or another since a meteorite crashed here in the old park four years ago," she explained.

"May I ask how that is related?" he inquired.

"First they were here because young Harry was found near the crash site," she said. "His relatives claimed he had snuck away during the night, Albus. But I fear they may have locked him out. We were literally feet away from losing him to some flying rock."

"So they stay because he is yet the Boy-Who-Lived to the Muggles?" he asked.

"Besides that, Albus," she said. "The boy took a few tests and was declared a bloody genius. Much to those sad Muggles' desire, he tested out of the local schools, and was accepted into a college. He finalized his move out last year."

Albus paled slightly, but kept any emotion from showing on his face. If Harry had moved out, then he might not consider Privet Drive as his home. It was probably the lack of any real declaration that had kept the wards from collapsing at the moment he left. Since then, the wards had no doubt been running on what magical energy they could find, and thus were being starved as they only had the magical cores of two squibs to feed upon. Cursing himself for not having noticed the slow depowering of the wards sooner, he turned to his friend.

"We must get young Harry to return at once," he said. "If not, the wards will collapse soon."

"Albus, the boy has no life here," Arabella exclaimed. "The press hound him, looking for a chink in the armor of the smartest boy in England. The rags got a hold of the Dursley boy, he ratted out everything he and his folks had done to young Harry, horrible things Albus, for a few hundred pounds! The child would never come back here!"

"Alas, it cannot be helped," Albus said, looking upon the news vans. "Harry's protection is the most important thing at the moment, even beyond the boy's happiness."

Mrs. Figg sighed as she looked upon her friend. There would be no changing his mind, if she read his emotions right. "He won't come back, Albus," she said. She had to at least try. "The Press ran the story for months: Genius Boy from an Abused Home. The Dursleys are a humiliated family, not even sure why they'd stay at Privet Drive. But I severely doubt Harry would return here."

"But he is in danger," Albus iterated. "For the greater good, he must return."

"Albus, he won't, not after how far he's come, and certainly not after what he admitted to the press after the Dursley boy ratted them out.

"Here," she said, handing the man a book labeled **"The Closet Under the Stairs: the Prison of the Body"**, a book based on Harry's reported exploits in Privet. "This was made from the interviews and the press hounding young Harry afterwards to see if it was true. Albus, the child will never want to go back, not when he has made such strides. And saying he could be injured won't work. Several attempts to kidnap Harry by Muggles have all failed, and I fear the last two were dealt with by magic."

Albus paused a bit, saddened at himself that he had not paid as much attention to Arabella's reports as he should have. He had feared that if he read them, he would be tempted to remove Harry from such an environment. He had set plans into place for Voldemort's return, and couldn't allow himself the emotional attachment that might force him to change his mind. Things had to be done, no matter his personal distaste for them, to ensure the future of the Wizarding World.

"Are you quite certain he used magic?" asked Albus.

"No," she admitted soundly. "But Albus, the police reports even question how Harry survived and escaped those attempts, rendering his assailants severely injured or… Albus, the boy is either using magic or has a guardian who is."

"This is then indeed a grave situation," he murmured, as the two disillusioned parties returned to her house. "Harry needs those protections, and yet he seems to be already able to use either accidental magic or on purpose to defend himself against Muggle aggressors. They were Muggles I take it?"

Arabella nodded. "Yes, after him to ransom or abduct to use his intelligence for some purpose."

"Then perhaps it is time to chat with young Harry about all of this," he said sadly. Obviously, the boy needed some protection, but to what depth was unknown to him. Let alone to how far the boy had developed his talents.

Harry was too close to another young pupil that Albus once had, to be at all comfortable to him and his situation.

* * *

Harry looked across the chess board, the warm air of the day blowing across the duo as they sat at one of the many open tables the decorated the campus of Oxford. "Sergi, your move."

"I know, Harry," he said, only a light trace of a Russian accent betraying his lineage. "I am torn about our newest conundrum." Finally, the man moved his remaining Knight, knowing for certain that the piece would never last more than his next three turns.

Harry shrugged. "If fusion power plants were easy to design, then we would have been making more of them in the last decade."

"Too true," he said, leaning back slightly. "We have given the engineering departments enough work though to keep them busy for the next few semesters, work I believe you too will be a part of, my friend."

Harry just smiled as he debated between moving a pawn or taking a rook with his bishop. "I have many interests and talents, Sergi. Though I would like to get these equations finished before starting on such work."

The Russian smirked. "You are too modest at times, my friend." The man had no doubt of the boy's extreme intelligence, something many conspiracy theorists blaming the meteorite that nearly killed the boy all those years ago. But in his old age, he'd rather believe that some higher power felt it owed to the young prodigy who had already lost and suffered so much in his young life.

Harry just nodded as he moved his bishop. After all, it wasn't like he could admit that he was in fact holding back development to give humanity time to become used to the work he created, lest they use it against themselves. His unseen advisor had convinced him of that.

"Something wrong, my friend?" asked Sergi, as he noticed his friend blinking, and turning towards the offices they worked in.

Harry just smiled. _Chaotic energy just arrived in my office? My, it seems others are looking for me._

"**Be careful, Harry. The probes in the office detect that three people have arrived, each with energy cores similar in power levels to your own. We can assume nothing about their intent."**

Harry just nodded. "I'm afraid our game will be cut short today, Sergi."

* * *

Stopping before the hallway that led to his office at Oxford, Harry dug into his coat, pulling out a small device that resembled a toy plastic gun. The item was far from that, however. It was a device which took what his Star Brother had labeled as chaotic energy—mainly because it had taken nearly three months for said entity to devise a way for it to function with the anti-technology effects it created.

But the gun allowed him to use the chaotic energy his 'core' generated to defend himself. More than a few people had found out how strong such a will could be. But for once, Harry hoped that these people had similar thoughts. He disliked violence, but would not hesitate to use such to preserve himself from those that would abuse him.

And even his Star Brother was uncertain of the full limits that the chaotic energy could be used for. All that was known so far was that this chaotic energy could break what both Harry and his Star Brother knew to be many rules of nature and seemed to bend reality itself enough on general principles to interfere with electronics. The fact his Star Brother had been able to adapt enough not only to work with the energy but enhance the Star Brother itself spoke well for the creators as well as its own adaptability.

Unlocking his office door, Harry opened it a crack, eyes scanning the area. His probes told him the three figures were still there, but his eyes were having trouble locking onto their locations.

"**The probes did denote their signatures appeared to vanish, but the energy released did not equal any theorized means of teleportation."**

Harry nodded. _So they're cloaking themselves via the chaotic energy._

"**That hypothesis does seem to merit the highest probability of success."**

"I know there are three people in here," said Harry, still not opening the door any farther than he initially had. "Reveal yourselves or I will be forced to take more forceful measures."

"That will not be necessary," said an elderly voice as three figures faded into sight, setting off Harry's probes once again. He slid his gun into the sleeves of his lab coat, not trusting them and silently cursing himself for not having built devices that could store the chaotic energy and fire it as needed—something that he could see helping stopped a few kidnapping attempts a bit sooner.

Revealed were three people, each wearing robes. Two males, one elderly with a long beard with an odd twinkle in his eye, the other a scowling man with slick hair who seemed younger. The final was an elderly woman with a pointed hat.

"Who are you and why have you felt the need to wait in ambush after breaking into my office?" Harry asked.

"Quite full of yourself, aren't you?" snorted the greasy-haired man.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Wherever you're from, it might be a sign of respect for three people to break into your working space and hide themselves. In the real world, we call that Breaking and Entering, followed by a possible premeditated assault if not illegal surveilance."

"I assure you we mean you no harm," said the elderly man. "My name is Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a school your parents attended, Harry."

The boy stayed silent.

"Harry?"

"I heard you," said the boy. "I'm waiting to know who the elderly lady with you is as well as the man who seems to be perpetually angry at everything."

"I am Professor Minerva McGonagall," said the elderly woman. "And the angry man as you called him is Professor Severus Snape."

"Now would you please come inside, Harry?" asked Dumbledore.

Harry studied them for a moment, debating on whether or not to trust them. It was true they were like him: beings that contained and used the chaotic energy—apparently referring to it as magic if the school title was correct.

But their tactics to this point left a foul taste in his mouth and a wariness inside his Brother's AI. No, this was not going to be a situation he would leave himself unprepared to fight back. Opening the door wide to further discourage any ill-acts, he strode into the room. Quickly looking over his furniture to ensure no odd energy was around them, he took his seat. "I'd offer you some snacks, but since I had no appointments today, you'll have to forgive me."

"Of course, our arrival was somewhat a spur of the notice decision. We were hoping to discuss some things with you," said Albus, taking the middle seat in front of the desk. Usually, they would be filled with other teachers and researchers at the school, the rare alumni that were attending merely to meet the Prodigy of Britain or, be convinced to donate funds to whatever program Harry was working on at the time.

It wasn't about the money though. He already had several offers from the military sectors—both legal and black market—to do work for them and with an unlimited budget. But their ideals were not always his, and his style would certainly be noticed there more often than now, where he could control the rate of progress so as to allow for humanity to catch up to what his works offered.

"Mr. Potter," said Minerva, "what do you know about your parents?" she asked, trying to find a good start to their conversation, some common ground to connect to the intelligent boy.

Harry looked at her, hands folded on the desk, face without emotion. "I apparently look like my father with my mother's eyes. I was unable to find my own birth certificate let alone that of one James Potter. That also includes a marriage certificate, so I know nothing about that side of my family, though I suppose that makes me a bastard child in the eyes of the law.

"My mother was apparently a smart woman, went to some 'freak' school according to my Aunt and Uncle. Beyond that, I know nothing else.

"Finally, I was told they died in the same accident that gave me this scar, though depending on how much alcohol imbibed by my relatives telling me, it was either they who were drunk or the other driver."

Their reactions varied, from the sad look on the elderly man's face, to the moral outrage on the elderly woman's face, to just increased disbelief on the greasy man's face.

"Yes, lovely people, were they not," drawled Harry. "I'm still amazed they were allowed to keep custody of my cousin."

"I told you they would be horrible people, Albus," hissed Minerva, her anger refusing to stay silent.

"It would appear so," tiredly agreed Albus.

"Ah, yet another falsehood I was told growing up," Harry said, making a mental note to let that bit of info leak to the media when the need for more gasoline on that particular fire was needed.

"Well, we have come to inform you of your past, Harry," said Albus.

"Am I to assume no other reasons for this to be occurring now?" asked Harry, suspicion evident in his voice. "And exactly how am I to know you're telling me the truth? I've already dealt with several families hoping I was related to them or perhaps stolen from them, given the spotty records of my parents. Not all of them were honest, but I am still wary of such requests."

Minerva nodded as she forced herself to calm down, as she reached into her robes, pulling out a picture that she placed on the desk.

Harry picked it up, noticing that a small amount of chaotic energy seemed to saturate it. But his mind was more interested in the fact that it was a moving picture, showing who he suspected were his parents. True enough, they seemed young, but the trio before him had indicated they had both attended this Hogwarts place, so them coming together at that age was a possibility. The man's hair was wild and appeared unkept, much like Harry's—despite the best efforts of the AI to tame. The woman in the picture resembled the woman in the pictures he had discovered at Privet. It confirmed a bit of what he knew.

Harry looked back at them, trying to gauge their reactions, but fond little shift from before he had actually been handed the photo. The greatest change was that of Snape, who seemed to be … saddened by the sight of the photo.

"Okay," said Harry. "Your story is now a bit more credible than a few of the worst I've seen," he admitted. After all, his Star Brother had stated that a picture—even one in created by/seeped in chaotic energy—could be faked.

Snape snorted once again, but Harry ignored him. He had already dealt with far too many people who disbelieved he was as intelligent as he was, despite the number of degrees he owned. He already knew the worst insult you could give such people was to ignore them, deny them any victory to begin with.

"Is there some other business you wish to discuss?" Harry asked. "I have other items to attend to today if not."

"I'm sorry to say there is quite a bit more," said Dumbledore. "The truth of your parents deaths is that they died trying to protect you from a evil man who called himself Lord Voldemort."

"Oh," said Harry. "I take it something happened, else I wouldn't be here."

"Your mother's love allowed her to cast protections upon you. A Killing Curse that the Dark Lord used to slay your parents failed to slay you. Instead, it rebounded upon Voldemort," he said, as Harry noticed Minerva wince at the second mention of the killer's name, "and defeated him. Those protections are with you today."

Harry nodded. Truthfully, it sounded weak, almost like a fairy tale more than a factual story, but he would spend the night looking for these so-called protections within his magical core.

All things considered, it should be an easy task. If he were to visualize his core of chaotic/magic energy, it was a sphere of pulsing light, surrounded by a metal framework, sunk deep into it as it grew, replacing old layers with new ones. As such, if the protections were there, he'd find them. If not, he could always intensify his probes and have them check to see if any chaotic energy patterns were overlaid his own.

"And?" he asked. "He was defeated, then what? How'd I go from a baby of murdered parents to Privet Drive?"

"Alas, that was my doing I'm afraid," Dumbledore said.

Harry clenched his hands as his Star Brother worked quickly to seal off his emotions.

"**Control yourself, Harry,"** it replied to him. **"Attacking these people will not further your understanding. These things must be dealt with properly. I ask you to trust me on this."**

"Why?" asked Harry, his voice cold due to his emotions being currently sealed.

"To take advantage of your mother's protections," said Albus. "By using that protection and tying it into blood wards, we could ensure you were protected from Voldemort's forces from seeking revenge. They did require a blood relative to ensure they worked properly."

"And now?" asked Harry. "Did no one think to ensure I was taken care of properly?"

Albus remained quiet at that one.

"I see," said Harry. _Can I shoot them now?_

"**Violence is not the answer to such acts, Harry. But I suspect there is a reason that sought you out now, most likely they finally noticed you were no longer in Privet Drive."**

"So then I assume the reason you are hear is to convince me to return to that hell hole," Harry said.

"What's the matter, Potter?" sneered Snape. "Upset they don't cater to your whims?"

Turning slightly, Harry glared at the man, trying to keep from asking once more to be allowed to attack the man. "I'm sorry, would you like to spend the week there, I'm sure it can be arranged for them to treat you much like they did me."

He paused as he felt something slam into his mind. His shields held, reinforced by the seal his Brother had placed on his emotions. Was some fool attacking him now?

"**Probes detecting elevated chaotic energy emanations directed at your head,"** came the voice of his Star Brother.

"**Chaotic energy emanations being directed from individual: Severus Snape."**

Scowl growing on his face, Harry's hand snapped up with more speed than one could ever expect from a ten-year-old boy, gun in hand, as he released a chaotic energy charge at Snape. His will forced it to take on the effect of a stun gun.

Snape never even had time to show his surprise, his scan suddenly stopped as the magic from Harry's odd wand slammed into him. It disrupted his Legilimency spell and sending the man to the back of his seat and to the floor, shaking as the electric arcs crossed his body as the spell continued until the man was rendered unconscious and slightly crispy.

The remaining two watched in awe as Harry moved the odd Muggle contraption to point it at them, not even allowing them a moment to berate him for attacking Snape.

"Now then," he said, a cold smile developing on his face, "I'll give you one minute to give me a damned good reason not to stun the both of you and have campus security arrest you."


	6. Harry Potter and the Guardian of Magic

**Harry Potter and the Guardian of Magic**

Disclaimer: I don't own this series or any other series. I am just floating an idea. I am making no money, nor plan to, off this venture. If you think of suing me over this, then grow up.

I would like to first personally thank all of those reviewing my stories. I enjoy reading your comments, and try to correct the grammatical errors I miss with my final read-through as well as my spell checkers. The suggestions you all make will help make this story better for everyone to enjoy, as well as allow my to fix some plot holes I may unintentionally leave. If you find any, let me know, and I will correct them and repost the chapters.

* * *

Harry sighed as he stood in front of the mirror, looking at his form without his shirt on. He could still feel it.

It wasn't real, he knew that. The Fae were if nothing but thorough in what they did. He'd never have the scar from the wound, the possible poisons were removed, curses lifted—possibly transferred to weapons as the Winter Court never met a curse they didn't like to stuff into a sword for extra effect—or cancelled, and flesh repaired perfectly.

But he could still feel where the imp's horn had pierced him. He'd been lucky he hadn't dropped his dagger, thus able to return the favor and thrust it into the thing's skull. He'd been lucky his guardian had been able to take him to someone who could help and heal him.

Whatever the man had done to earn such favor with Mother Winter and Mother Summer were things not to be discussed—though if one listened hard enough, the possible payment was most likely in the form of bedroom entertainment as the sounds suggested.

It was probably the same in a few temples where self-proclaimed Goddesses lived. But if they were truly Goddesses, he'd rather not say anything bad about them. His life was odd enough with his guardian. The last thing he wanted was a baby-sitter from Hell—he'd seen them before—or Fate forbid … being returned to the Dursleys.

But that was in the past. He was healed, they didn't have a request or a summons to do anything for anyone, no new places to explore or visit for his training…

IT'S VACATION TIME!

They were currently in a hotel in the French Riviera, near the beach, preparing for some sun and fun. He didn't even have to worry about a sunburn thanks to some potions a contact of his guardian's in the Red Court gave them, something made to keep vampires from burning was sure to work wonders for humans with sensitive skin.

"I wonder what that writer's payment was for information about Nevernever," he murmured. Whoever it was sure didn't get the full story on that magical world or a few of the races involved, correct. Those Dresden File books seemed to be half-truths filled with conjecture.

"You ready, Harry?"

He turned, not having expected the deeper voice or the form before him. "Um, Pops, you sure you want to go to the beach like that?"

"Why?" asked his guardian, who was checking his form. His long hair was tied in a loose ponytail, his shirt was unbuttoned, showing a well-defined chest, and his swimming trunks didn't clash with his outfit or would it appear out of the ordinary at the beeches surrounding the hotel.

"Um," said Harry, trying to put this as delicately as possible. After all, there were times where his guardian could be absent-minded. "You know, lots of below body-temp water, us being on the beach, you with a cold-water curse?" he asked.

The man chuckled. "Harry, I just finished applying heavy-duty charmed soap to prevent the curse from activating for the day. Hell, I'll sun topless tomorrow as a woman, let me enjoy the beach as a guy today!"

"So you didn't forget … again?"

The man snorted. "You forget one time thanks to being overworked…"

"They had to rush three college frat boys to the hospital for blood loss…"

"How are three perverts ending up like that my fault?" grumbled the man.

"Whatever," Harry waved off. "Let's go before someone tries to contact you, Old Man."

"Ungrateful whelp," grumbled the man. "Don't make me find some cats and dig a pit."

"I'm sure Bastet would enjoy that," Harry pointed out with a smile.

"Right; I need some steaks and a pack of wolves," the man murmured. "I'm not on speaking terms with any deities for canines."

* * *

"This is heaven," murmured Harry as he lay down under the large umbrella, enjoying the sound of the waves and the wind.

"You said it, kid," murmured the man as he stretched out on his own blanket.

"Surprised you aren't in the water," said Harry.

"You want me to see if I can curse you with my luck in women?"

"No sir!" Harry quickly replied. Oh, that was one curse he never wanted to see if it had power. He saw the women his guardian attracted; mad women with power and little issue to using it. He could barely handle a Level Four imp, no way in hell did he want the attention of such females that his guardian seemed to attract. He'd like to eventually see the end of puberty, thank you.

"Sorry," murmured the man. "But I'd rather enjoy the chance to relax instead of a nice swim."

"Tomorrow you'll have to deal with hormonal prats," said Harry.

"Same as today," said the man. "The only difference is where the bulges are."

Harry just nodded slightly. "So then you just plan to sun today?"

"I plan to swim," said the man. "It's just that like you, I'd like to just lounge for a bit."

"Whatever," snorted Harry as he lay back down on the sand. "Still has to be better than whatever training you have planned for later."

"And what makes you think I have training planned for later?" asked the man.

Harry just snorted. "Ranma Saotome never met a time he didn't like to train. You said that last month."

"When?" asked the man named Ranma.

"Before we had to deal with that Sphinx."

Ranma blinked. "Oh yeah, right bother that was," he said with a smile, leaning back.

Harry just shook his head. There was probably a reason his father figure was smiling like that, one that he knew would scar him for life if he learned. It had to be some weird rule, that a parent had to mentally scar their children—either adopted or by blood—with such events.

"Relax," said Ranma. "I'm not going to go into the details."

"No; you'll just hint at what they may be for months on end, then traumatize me with a full recount."

"Cheeky brat," snorted Ranma. "When did I ever do that?"

"Would you like that list in some form of passage of time or how scarred I was because of them?" asked Harry sarcastically.

Ranma heaved out a sigh as he leaned back onto the towel. "Good one," he said with a smile. "But be careful, a good retort is good and all, but you still need to learn when not to mouth off."

"And when did you learn this?" asked Harry with suspicion.

"I'll let you know when it happens," said the elder man. "Now do excuse me while I soak up some rays, while trying to ignore that teen who has been eyeing me since we got here."

Harry shook his head as he turned, spying the teen that seemed to have set her sights on his guardian. True, the silvery hair was a nice touch; the enticement aura she produced seemed to scream 'look at me' to anything male and straight.

Harry avoided the whole thing because of one rule, a rule that never proved wrong, a rule that had saved him from experiencing pain and torture the likes of which even an arch-demon could never copy. Any female that pays attention to his guardian was most likely insane or dangerous on some level and thus would expose said male and those around him to the painful Bitch-Slap of the Gods.

His Old Man kept the females from trying to curry favor with him and Harry tried not to report to the local authorities just who did the unexplainable destructive acts that occurred.

Hear no evil, speak no evil, and see no evil that resulted in a herd of llamas running through the Russian Parliament.

"Have fun," said Harry as he scooted his towel about three feet from its current position. Closing his eyes, Harry allowed his mind to turn back time to the fateful day he had been rescued from the Dursleys, from a life of abuse and enforced normalcy, and led into a life that was … living.

* * *

_In the past…_

"Come along, Boy," grumbled Vernon, as he dragged the boy from the optometrist. The school had informed him of the freak's bad eyesight and 'recommended' that the freak come with glasses for class tomorrow. "Count yourself lucky, we're wasting good quid on you, you know."

"Yes sir." The small child kept his head down as his loving uncle dragged him across the mall from a cheap store for frames and lenses.

"I hope you're satisfied," spat Vernon quietly, not wanting to acquire any attention from the normal people around him. "That was money you took out of Dudder's coffers. And now Dudley has to go without because you just had to go and get bad eyesight."

"Excuse me?"

Vernon halted, looking from the small child behind him to the man before him, wearing a silk shirt, black pants, and with long black hair down in a ponytail. The man was obviously from the East, but Vernon not being able to tell country of origin and not really caring, labeled the man a Chinaman, and put on a face of being disturbed. Had it been a normal Englishman, he would have been prim, proper, and most importantly nice. But for an obviously lost foreigner, he really didn't give a damn if they felt insulted.

"What do you want?" growled Vernon.

The man just smiled, making Vernon question if the foreign freak even understood English, forgetting that he had interrupted the portly man's mutterings in fluent and non-accented English.

"Yes, I was hoping you could tell me why you are belittling that young and obviously half-starved child?" asked the man.

"What's it to you?" spat Vernon. "It's what a freak like him deserves!"

"I see," said the man, as he bent slightly, placing his hand in the water of a nearby fountain.

Vernon stared in shock, as did Harry, as the man shrank slightly, his hair going from black to fiery red, and the form taking on a definite female appearance. The neo-female then took her hand and placed it over her closed eyes. When she removed her hand, the eyes had gone from a bright blue-grey to the vivid green of Harry's own.

And while this took just a few seconds, it was enough to distract Vernon from yelling out any shock, before…

**WHACK!**

"How dare you treat our son that way?" screeched the neo-female, after delivering a backhanded slap to Vernon's face, sending the man to the floor, and attracting the attention of all the local shoppers.

Harry looked on in shock. He was relatively certain the woman had been a man a few seconds ago. Taking off his glasses, ignoring his uncle's form on the ground and the growing crowd, he looked at them. Maybe they were broke?

"Bad enough you strung me along all those years, promising to leave that cold shrew of a wife!" bellowed the redhead. "But I ask you to watch our son, your own flesh, for a few days so I could take care of my sick sister, and what do I come back to? Look at him!" she yelled, pointing to Harry.

Harry paused a bit, as he heard the mutterings of the crowd, commenting on how he looked underfed, how he was swimming in clothes too large for him, how he looked like he hadn't had a decent day in his whole life. Part of him felt embarrassed at such attention, while a new part seemed glad someone was finally noticing these things.

Vernon stared in shock. First the freaky foreigner had changed before him, then assaulted him, and now was exposing how he tried to correct the freak to the world in some made-up story. "Now see here!" bellowed Vernon as he stood up.

But he quickly went down as the woman kneed him in the groin.

"Don't you dare touch me, you sicko!" spat the girl, as she strode quickly over to Harry and picked him up. "I'm taking my son home. If you ever try and contact us, I'll have the police lock you up with the sickest bastard they have! You hear me?" she yelled, as she turned around and stormed out of the mall, an act that was soon followed by cheers and applause.

The two were nearly a block away from the Mall before it hit Harry that he had been effectively kidnapped.

"Sorry about that," said the woman, as she continued to carry the small boy, showing no strain at doing so. "But I don't like watching kids get abused like that, even my Old Man wasn't that bad."

"Are you my mommy?" asked Harry quietly, causing the woman to pause for a bit.

"Let's sit for a bit and talk," she replied, as she hailed a bus. When they got onboard, the duo quickly went to the top and the rear, where no one would overhear them.

"Okay kid," she said, as she touched her eyes again, returning them to blue-grey, "let me take it from the top. That asshole was abusing you, and I don't like that, its never okay, especially for someone with a pure aura like yours. Sorry if I frightened you, but getting you away from that pompous ass is probably the best thing for you.

"As for the mother part," she said, scratching the back of her neck. "Sorry kid, I don't think I'm your dad, and I know I ain't your mom. This form is a magic curse I got, originally and I'm always mentally a guy," she said with a smile.

"Oh," said Harry sadly.

The woman deflated a bit, before releasing a deep breath. "Tell me, kid; do you want to go back home to that?" she asked, pointing back towards the Mall.

Harry quickly shook his head. "No way," he said desperately, eyes wide in fear.

Nodding, the woman turned slightly, leaning back into her seat. "Well then, guess you gotta come along with me," she said with a smile. "I warn you though, I lead a … unique life," she said, chuckling nervously. "I'll teach you a lot, I'll teach you magic, science, and martial arts," she said, the latter with a gleam in her eye and zest in her voice. "Granted, I'm the best with that last thing, the other two … not so much, but I'm getting better all the time. And that last Mage I worked with suggested I get a student soon.

"So kid, wanna join me?"

Harry blinked. This … this had to be a dream. "But Uncle Vernon said magic isn't real," he murmured.

"That fat slob probably looks in a mirror and thinks he's heaven's gift to women, doesn't make it true," the woman said. "Face it kid, that guy couldn't see reality if it … well, if it did what I just did to him," she said with a kind smile.

"So, you interested?" she asked once again, holding out her hand.

Slowly, Harry reached out for it. She admitted she wasn't his parent, but … she admitted she'd accept him, want him. That meant more to him than any possible pain that could result from what he was about to do. He took her hand and shook.

"Welcome to being my Student," said the woman with a smile, before her eyes narrowed. "Um … what's your name?"

Harry smiled. "Harry James Potter."

"Ranma Saotome, nice ta meetcha!" said the woman.

* * *

_In the present…_

Monsieur Jean-Paul Delacour leaned back into his chair. This was turning into an incident the likes of which he hoped to avoid within his political career.

Harry Potter had been located. It hadn't occurred because of a tip, the hard work of Aurors, or the youth himself escaping and finding help. No, it had come because his eldest daughter had been trying to seduce the supposed kidnapper and his youngest was playing with Harry. Harry Potter discovered because of an accident.

He had invited them over for dinner, hoping to have the time to set up his Aurors to capture the lad without endangering his children or his wife. It was a miracle that it worked, but more miraculous that both people seemed surprised that they were wanted in such a manner. Harry claimed he was not kidnapped, he merely left an abusive environment thanks to the intervention of his current Guardian, and any others who said differently or claimed that the Dursleys were raising him well 'should put down the damned bottle and sober up'.

The man—named Ranma Saotome, a name Jean-Paul hoped to keep forever from Fleur—simply shrugged, said they could spare a day to correct this mistake.

That was not the common thing one expected to hear from a kidnapper. And to be honest, Dumbledore had never been that forthcoming with details about the former home of the Potter youth. So for all he knew it could be true.

Then there was the delegation coming over from Britain. He already received an earful from their Minister for refusing to allow them to bring over a Dementor to Kiss Saotome. There hadn't even been a full investigation, let alone a trial, and that fool was already trying to pronounce a sentence. But what did one expect from the English? It was no wonder the Potter child sought any means possible to escape that dreary country.

"Sir?" said a male Auror, entering Jean-Paul's office.

"Yes?"

"The delegation from Britain has arrived to begin the process of extradition," the man said.

Delacour snorted at that. He had already sent the paperwork to the ICW for the trial. If he sent the duo to England, one would be dead in minutes and the other would be used as a poster child for their current government. Not only that, but Dumbledore would get away without describing the exact conditions the Boy-Who-Lived had been kept in. It would be little trouble to delay them until he heard word from the French ICW representative.

"They have also requested to conduct an immediate interview with Mr. Potter," said the man.

"Who is in the group?"

"I believe it is Minister Fudge, Albus Dumbledore, and Amelia Susan Bones, their head of the Magical Law Enforcement."

Delacour nodded, wishing he had a headache-relief-potion at the moment. "Fine, have the guards alerted, and make certain the group members are thoroughly scanned for any hidden surprises."

"But that will take nearly an hour sir."

"I know," smirked Delacour.

* * *

"Well … this sucks," muttered Harry Potter, as he sat on a cot in some cell.

At the age of ten, most children never got to experience the act of being arrested with their guardian, let alone being placed in a cell with a cot that smelled like the last tenant to use it had escaped via shucking the mortal coil.

"This is some vacation," he said with a sigh, as he pulled his legs up to the bed. Meditation was definitely better than playing "What's that smell?" or hoping to have some answers soon from guards who acted blind, deaf, and dumb.

And the day had been going so well too. The French Riviera had been a perfect vacation spot to unwind … especially after that little snafu with the demons, cult, and a supposed snow princess—why a snow princess existed in Egypt, he thought he was better not knowing.

The beach was excellent, the hotel had the softest mattresses, and nothing but extremely light training for the next two weeks.

And then came the Delacours.

The youngest wasn't that bad. While three of the Delacours exuded some lust aura, the youngest; Gabrielle age four, barely exuded any, and was more than content to play in the surf with Harry as Gabrielle's big sister; Fleur age fourteen, was busy trying to entice Harry's guardian into actions that would probably be illegal in most areas, but especially in the Riviera.

It wasn't unusual. After all, his Guardian did have a habit of attracting trouble, trouble that usually carried nothing but X chromosomes. But even Harry didn't think anything would come from the teen's flirting. Harry knew his guardian wouldn't go after her. Ranma knew he wasn't going to go after her.

"My luck, she was probably pissed and made up some stories," he muttered. "Really, like I was kidnapped," he grumbled. Someone needed to lay off the drugs if they expected him to believe the Dursleys wanted him back. Hell, the only reason they would was if he was scheduled to come into some money or were receiving some payment for holding him.

Ah, it didn't matter anyway. Granted this was a different brand of trouble than what they usually had to deal with. Harry was more experienced in the 'kill them all' and 'the world shall be mine' trouble than the 'will the defendant please rise' type. Worst case, they'd escape, and have yet another section of the planet they were not allowed on or near.

The door slowly opened, allowing four people to enter the cell. Fortunately, the cell was large enough to allow them to enter without creating a problem, an effect Harry noted happened as the people filed in. Apparently the wards outside the cell did other things than try and stir up old memories.

He recognized one of the men as the male Delacour, Gabrielle and Fleur's father, making him wonder if perhaps despite his distance, the underage girl's attention to Ranma had somehow dragged him into the Bitch Slap of the Gods. Surely a supposed kidnapping didn't rate this type of attention, especially when Harry demanded they offer proof he had been kidnapped in the first place. Three strangers hardly rated proof.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," said one of the unknown men, dragging Harry's attention back to him. The one who spoke was heavy-set, speaking of an extremely lax lifestyle that appeared to fidget with his bowler hat when nervous. To the man's left was an elderly man with a long purple … robe? And beside him was an elderly woman with red hair mixed with sparse grey, wearing a monocle eye piece. "I'm very glad to see you're safe. Do know that we of the British Ministry of Magic never stopped looking for you. We always held hope that you would be returned to us safe and sound!"

Harry just arched his eyebrow at that. "Uh huh," he said, as his gaze panned over the others.

"My name is Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic for Great Britain," the man said, extending a hand out to Harry.

Harry just ignored the gesture however. "Are we done here, because I'd like to get back to the beach before the sun goes down all the way and the other tourists start crowding in?"

"I'm afraid your vacation will be cut short, Mr. Potter," said the elderly man in purple robes. "I understand that you have had a rough time, what with being taken from your caring relatives for your safety."

"Ah, so you're the one who is taking the mind-altering substances," said Harry with a smile.

"Excuse me?" said the lone woman.

"As if I was ever happy at the Dursleys," snorted Harry. "The starved me, yelled at me, forced me to work for little to no food… Come to think of it, they never really had a kind word for me either," Harry murmured. Well, there were some denizens of Nevernever that would hop at the chance to pay back some favors to him…

"I'm sure it was all a misunderstanding," said the purple-robed man, even as he was receiving suspicious glares from the elderly woman and Delacour.

"Right, and they made me think my name really was Ungrateful Freak for my first few years," muttered Harry. "Now if you'll excuse me, we have dinner reservations at nine. Our last dinner plans yesterday seemed to fall through."

"Dinner reservations?" asked Fudge. "But Mr. Potter," he stuttered.

"Excuse me," said Harry, waiting for them to part.

"I'm afraid that is just not possible, Harry," said the purple-robed man. "We need to return you to your relatives for your safety."

"And what I want means nothing?" asked Harry, eyes narrowed.

"I'm afraid your safety is of greater importance than your happiness for the moment," said the elderly man. "But rest assured, I have discussed your living arrangements with them, and I am quite certain no more issues shall spring up."

Harry slowly nodded. "And you think I'm going to allow myself to be sent back to the Dursley Prison because a bunch of strangers I don't know think they know what's best for me?"

"S-Surely there are other acceptable places for Mr. Potter to live," said Fudge. "I personally have had half a dozen requests before I cam here. Why, my good friend Lucius made an interesting proposition."

**CLANG!**

The group turned, seeing that the door behind them, the sound of it locking was soon heard, as well as a very familiar voice.

"Well then," said Harry's voice on the other side of the door, "while you discuss worthless opinions with the senile, I'm afraid I can't stay here anymore. We gave you the day we promised."

Blinking, the group turned to the Harry that was in the cell with them, smiling. "Sorry folks," he said. "But illusions are very fun to use." With that, he rippled as he faded from site.

"Amazing," said Albus. "I had no idea young Harry had such talents."

Delacour went quickly to the door, looking outward to see the guards he had assigned unconscious, their robes torn and used to bind them.

"Well, don't that stand there!" yelled Fudge. "Use an unlocking charm or something! Get us out of here!"

Jean-Paul sighed. He really hated the British. "The doors are charmed to be magic-resistant. They only unlock from the outside manually. We're trapped until someone lets us out."

"What sort of place are you running here, Delacour?" bellowed the man.

* * *

Harry just twirled the stolen wands, as he looked for his guardian. Really, you'd think Ranma would make this easy.

**BOOM!**

Harry smirked, his hand pointing down the way the explosion had come from. "Ah, grand example of a role model, he is."

True, their day was over, but he did feel a bit worried. What was around or had happened to make Ranma want to exit this place with such an announcement?

"I hate days like this," muttered Harry, as he took off towards the direction of the explosion. "Vacation, my ass," he muttered, as he disappeared down a corridor.


	7. Guardian of Magic 2

**Harry Potter and the Guardian of Magic 2**

Disclaimer: I don't own this series or any other series. I am just floating an idea. I am making no money, nor plan to, off this venture. If you think of suing me over this, then grow up.

I would like to first personally thank all of those reviewing my stories. I enjoy reading your comments, and try to correct the grammatical errors I miss with my final read-through as well as my spell checkers. The suggestions you all make will help make this story better for everyone to enjoy, as well as allow my to fix some plot holes I may unintentionally leave. If you find any, let me know, and I will correct them and repost the chapters.

* * *

As requested, here as an attempt to extend what was so far the most reviewed Plot Bunny.

* * *

The two males stood, leaning on their staves, panting heavily.

"I thought we killed this ass," muttered Harry, pointing to an Egyptian Wizard lying on the ground, surrounded by dead and dismembered Jackal Soldiers. Said guy was supposed to be dead from the final battle to save the Snow Princess in Egypt—once again, he seriously did not want to know what a supposed Snow Princess was doing there in a hot desert.

Some secrets man was not meant to know … because then man would not be able to sleep at night.

"We did," said Ranma, looking over the corpse. "Must have brought himself back. Egyptian mages are not much nowadays, but in the past they knew hundreds of ways to bring someone back. All those mummies they find now aren't just for show, you know."

"And how do you know that?"

"I'll have you know I studied a lot about magic," growled Ranma.

"Then explain that snow princess this ass was after," demanded Harry, poking the wizard with his staff. It wouldn't get explained, but maybe … just maybe … he could traumatize his caregiver for once.

Ranma ignored him, focusing upon the wizard. Just how did this fool return himself back to life? Ranma had stabbed him in the chest with a pair of swords forged from the Stone Table. They were made so that any life taken via them would work the same as any life sacrificed to the Fae Court in charge of the Stone Table. The only difference was each sword represented the two sides of the Court, one for Winter and one for Summer, and depending on which one did the killing, that was the Court that received the power.

It was also why he never relied on one sword, lest he seem to favor one Court and create an imbalance of power.

So while he so wanted to plunge both swords through the wizard's chest once more, he didn't want to take a chance the guy would just get back up again later. It was annoying when the bad guys just got back up. Most things had the decency to stay dead after you lopped off their heads.

"Ah," murmured Ranma, as he stared at the guy's chest. It was there, buried deep inside, but there was something gathering the ambient mana and chi, slowly restoring the damaged body. The sink gathered power, and since it worked off two sources, it would be almost guaranteed to restore the form to life, since there was rarely any way to prevent both from being nullified.

Unless of course you knew how to properly discharge such an arrangement without setting off … other issues; that was the hard part. "Harry, you might want to step back," Ranma said, raising his staff into the air. Oh, this was going to hurt … the wizard more than him, but it was still going to hurt like hell.

Gulping, the tired boy leapt backwards, glad to not have landed and slipped in some blood. Say what you would, but at least the annoying wizards didn't stop fighting when the Jackal Soldiers teleported in. Most of them were alive … he thought. They were still twitching at least.

Sighing he stared at his Guardian, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever spell the man was about to perform. "Hey Old Man, try and keep him dead this time!" Harry called out.

"Brat," muttered Ranma, as he focused on the effect he wanted. The pool of energy the guy already had was quite high, and releasing it the wrong way—while it would also wipe the man from the living permanently—would also likely remove everyone around him as well. "I need to do this right, Harry; otherwise we're all going to see a really big bang."

The messy-haired boy nodded. "So what are you going to do?"

Ranma just smirked. "Well, use the energy in a spell you can't possibly overpower." With that, he slammed the staff's end through the wizard's chest. "Vigoratus!" he yelled.

The corpse gave a gasping and unholy scream, making what few awake and alert Aurors and medical staff nearby soil themselves in fright, as a blinding light pulsed from the top of the staff, pulsing outwards and enveloping all in its path. The light continued on for nearly half a minute, before it vanished as quickly as it had arrived.

Ranma stood panting, his wounds healed, but his body exhausted from channeling all of that power. His staff was now stuck into the ground by a few inches; the former body of the Egyptian Wizard now a dust outline that seemed to be blowing away, despite no breeze being present. "Come back from that, asshole," he spat.

"A healing spell!" cried out Harry.

"Well, you can't overpower a healing spell," said Ranma. "They work well with either chi or mana, and it fixed everyone up," he finished, motioning to the French wizards that were slowly and cautiously getting to their feet. "Besides, I couldn't very well discharge it straight up, could I? My luck, there's some old sewer right above us."

"True," muttered Harry. "Didn't know you could use a healing spell quite like that."

"I wouldn't advise you trying it sometime soon," said Ranma. "I've built up myself for decades, and it damned near burnt me out. Anyone else, they might have healed the others before they exploded."

The young Potter gulped at that. "Right, no discharging immortal pricks."

"That's my boy," smiled Ranma, as he weakly mussed his pupil's hair. "But could you say that without sounding dirty."

"Whatever," waved off Harry. "Now can we go? We gave them a day to fix this up and I'm hungry."

"A spectacular fight, I must say," came the one voice neither person wanted to hear.

Turning slightly, they spotted four people, people Harry had hoped would stay locked in his former cell until he left the country.

"W-w-what the bloody hell was that?" cried the fat one.

"Jackal Soldiers from a mage in Egypt called Tik," said Ranma. "Guy was trying to resurrect his long dead master with the spirits and souls of people that rather preferred living and not under a despot."

"We went, we kicked ass, and the moron came back for a rematch," Harry said with a smile.

"I see," said the elderly man with the purple robes. "I must say I have never witnessed such a display of magic. May I ask where you all learned such?"

"You were watching and didn't help?" growled out Ranma.

"Alas, young Harry had us detained within his cell," said the man. "Mr. Delacour was kind enough, once we got free, to allow us a view through the observation wards on our way here."

"Whatever," sighed Ranma, wobbling a bit, leaning heavily on his staff. "Come on Harry, let's go."

"You can't take him!" yelled the overweight man. "He's a hero to England! He's got to come back with us!"

"Buddy, I've had a rough day," spat Ranma. "Don't make me kick your ass too."

"Give it a rest, Old Man," sighed Harry with a smirk. "You go eat some stewed prunes or something while the young take care of it."

"If I may, gentlemen," said the elderly man, "might we borrow some of your time for a friendly chat."

"Didn't we give you a whole day for that?" asked Harry with a sneer. Like he was going to give them any more time. They should have been talking to them instead of keeping them in those cells.

"Yes," said the elderly wizard. "It would appear our first attempt at a civil discussion was left wanting. Perhaps could trouble you for a bit more time? We will of course provide a grand meal—"

"Lead the way," said Ranma with a smile.

Harry just shook his head. And this was the guy he was supposed to learn how to survive from. The man would agree to just about anything for a meal. Where could he have learned such a thing was a good idea?

* * *

"You can't honestly be considering this!" yelled Harry, as the duo entered their hotel room. The meeting had been long, boring, and filled with long-winded speeches.

And that was just the politician … Pudge? Fudge?

"I consider all things," replied Ranma evenly.

"You're just considering this because you might have some jobs where taking me might be dangerous," spat Harry.

Ranma heaved a heavy sigh. It was true he had been approached by several people about a Demon Lord trying to set up shop in Russia. And such wasn't something he wanted to drag Harry along—especially since the kid was supposed to be recovering from being skewered by an imp. No, such was too dangerous, even to someone who was almost as talented in the magical arts as Harry was.

So he tried another approach, since the harsher truth wouldn't sit well with either of them. "Harry, how many friends do you have?"

"Plenty," Harry replied, confused.

"How many your own age?" asked Ranma.

"So what; this is an excuse to get me a social education with a bunch of fools who thought the Dursleys were a good idea?" asked Harry. "The Dursleys? These guys have already proven that they don't deal with a full deck and you want to send me to a school run by them!"

Ranma sat down hard in a nearby seat, staring at the ceiling. "One month," said Ranma. "One month; if you don't find anything useful, if you find their society distasteful, their schooling a joke, your age group a bunch of morons, then I'll come back and tear apart the school to withdraw you. We can try something similar with the other schools, but I want you to have a chance." He didn't want to mention how at times, he would have crippled people just for such a chance, a chance to connect to his own age group when he was on the road growing up. This wasn't about him though, this was about Harry.

And he wanted Harry to have a better childhood than he did, even if he had to lose him for part of it.

Harry sat across from him, trying not to appear as if he was sulking. He preferred his life the way it was now. It wasn't like he'd have the adventures he enjoyed now—minus the being gored—at some stupid school.

"If nothing else," continued Ranma, "you can settle whatever affairs of your parents that are still unresolved."

"Did … did they say anything about them?" Harry asked. For some of the later discussions, Harry had been out of the room, dragged off by the Delacour sisters—Gabrielle to play and Fleur to be interrogated about his Guardian's likes.

Ranma nodded, as he withdrew a small book from his coat, tossing it over to his protégé. "Everything they told me, I had write itself in there." He paused, patting down his shirt before pulling out a second book. "And they had this one at a gift shop. Apparently you're something of a local celebrity."

"You gotta teach me that spell," said Harry. If he was going to be stuck in some misbegotten school, the least he could have with him was a quick note-taker. Okay, sure; the fact he actually had a book about his parents and their death was a little creepy—and did strike a cord of fear that perhaps he might already be suffering under the 'Saotome Charm' Curse. But it was at least something about his past.

"You'd be proud of them Harry," he continued. "I am; they died protecting you from some idiot named Voldemort. If you want to mess with people, call him that. They freak when you say his name. For them, it is always He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and You-Know-Who. Wimps," he muttered. As if he was going to be afraid of someone's name. The only words he ever feared were fiancée and fiancé.

Nothing good **ever** came from those words.

Harry nodded numbly, as he read the first real lead he had ever found about his parents. He had always hoped something might be found within England. But given his history and the fact the Dursleys were there… No, he could never have gone there searching for it, not with the bad memories haunting that place.

"I'll leave you to it," said Ranma, standing up. "The Mothers have requested my presence."

That got Harry's attention. "What for?" The Mothers of the Fae: Mother Summer and Mother Winter, didn't call upon his Guardian for anything mundane. No, a call from them was about something very important.

Or a booty call, he wouldn't put it past his Guardian to be called just for that, once again making the last Potter glad he didn't have such luck.

* * *

All across Britain, girls with dreams about the Boy-Who-Lived as their husband sneezed.

* * *

Harry's eyes went wide as he felt a shiver go down his back. His eyes darted forward, looking towards the spot his Guardian had been. Somehow, that had to be the Old Man's fault, right?

But at the moment, Ranma had once again disappeared.

"I'll get him for it in the morning," murmured Harry, as he returned to the book. For the moment, he simply stared at the introductory page … and the only photos he had ever seen of his birth parents.

* * *

Ranma trudged through the Woods of Awnsidhe to the cottage of the Queen Mothers. The weather was neither perfect for him nor imperfect, a perfect reflection of the land that divided the homes of the two Fae Courts.

He had no illusions about why he was here, that much was obvious. Years ago, he had worked out a deal with the Mothers, sparing Harry from the deals the young boy had made with a Winter Fae and a Summer Fae. The deal also protected Harry from making any future deals, as well as gave him a lot of leeway when working with the Fae.

Sure, Ranma paid for that deal—in other ways aside from his 'communion' with the Mothers. He'd had to take care of many of their troubles, everything from rivals attempting to invade the Courts to grocery runs—Fae seemed to have a natural addition to anything with honey in it. But for Harry, he'd do it all and more. The boy was more than a student; he was like a son to him. And if need be, he'd go against the Mothers to protect him.

He hoped it never came to that. As strong as he was, he was still nowhere close to being in their league. If they'd ever set out against Harry, Ranma knew he'd barely be a stumbling block, a small delay at best. There was only so much the deal allowed them, and he knew with utmost certainty they would be using it to the fullest.

So here he was, making his way to a meeting he knew the basics about—they always seemed to know what he and Harry were up to—and hoping it would end well. If Harry agreed, then tomorrow they needed to head to London to set things up.

And that meant he needed to call on a few contacts to set up a safe house. They so loved it when he made calls for immediate work, especially at this local time of night.

That's why he called them before he arrived back at the hotel. The more time they had, the better the results.

"Not looking forward to meeting her again, though," he said, shivering at the prospect of having to meet an old acquaintance again to assist in whatever legal matters were on Harry in the magical world of England—he'd rather not be banned from another country again, thank you. And while the woman was of a brilliant mind in tactics and legal maneuvering—almost at the level of the Fae in her negotiating style—she was scary in all things, especially when she wanted payment.

"Going to need her help though," he said with a sigh. He wanted something iron-clad to keep the English wizards from trying to renege on any part of the deal they currently had. And if anyone could make an agreement that left no wiggle-room, it was … her.

The only bright side was that with the current agreement, the English Wizards were not as pushy to retaining Harry's custody. Not that he trusted them—he knew they'd work quickly over Harry's school term to somehow edge Ranma out of custody. If there was any being that could pervert a contract faster than a Fae … it was a politician.

"They can try," he mused. He'd never taken on an entire country before. A kingdom or two? Sure. But never a country. If … she … failed, then he'd get to do what he did best: bust things.

Besides … he had no qualms about killing those that sought to harm his adopted son … no matter who were innocent pawns.

But as the Queens' Cottage came into view, he could only shiver a bit, despite the fact that no wind or breeze had blown by him. Nothing good could come from this, especially after the day he had just had. The two Queens may not go by the forbidden words, but being summoned by them elicited the same fear, the same gnawing horror in his mind.

And he knew that things were just going the way it needed … to bring something odd in his life.

* * *

Harry snuggled into his bed, the book about his parents still clutched in his hands. Sure, he could guess half the stuff was pure bull, since he was supposed to be the only survivor and he was relatively certain he hadn't offered any testimony. But it was a connection, that's what mattered.

As his eyes slowly opened, a smile formed on his face. Such pleasant dreams, almost as if they had been real, faded from his mind. It was an enchanting feeling, to have felt a connection, if even for a moment to those people who had sacrificed themselves so he could live.

Of course, he wondered why the hell they didn't flee when someone came barging through their defenses. Not to mention the fact his mother had run upstairs to get him, but then tried nothing else to flee, almost like a cheerleader in a horror movie.

And just why was Volde…? Moldy…? What's-his-name; why was he after them?

Needless to say, Harry was beginning to question the sanity of the society of mages and hoping it didn't dumb him down any.

But first, he had to remember something. Something was supposed to have happened by now, but had not. _Maybe it'll come to me after a bit more rest,_ he thought, curling deeper into the blankets.

And then it hit him, his eyes wide as fear and adrenalin pumped through his body.

He was still in bed. It was past eight in the morning … and his Guardian had yet to wake him up, even for just a simple half-hour practice to stay in shape while on vacation.

This was bad, this was **very **bad.

Slowly peeking out of the blankets, Harry cast out his senses, looking for any traps, hidden surprises—which included insane love interests after his Guardian, especially of the teenage Veela variety—and other assorted tricks meant to catch him off guard.

But there was nothing, no hidden spells, wards, barriers, armed traps; there was nothing at all.

"I'm dead," Harry muttered, clutching the book tightly, and whimpering as he curled into a ball.

* * *

Harry slowly made it down the hallway of the suite, gingerly making headway towards the sounds of the kitchen. He was trying to sense things passively, since it wouldn't be the first time his Old Man had set traps that went off under active screening.

Harry never looked at birthday presents the same after that.

_Come to think of it, my birthday is in a few days… Is he planning something for that?_ He fought hard not to shiver at that thought. Birthdays by Ranma were like roller coasters: they had highs and lows plus could usually end with him throwing up.

But that day was still off a bit. There was something else, something on the edge of his senses that radiated … Fae.

"Dear God, they're visiting him now," Harry fretted. Fae were in the building! _Damn it, I knew I should have grabbed that cold iron dagger._

"Breakfast's ready, Harry!" called out his caregiver from the kitchen. "And hurry up; we need to check out those houses in Britain my contact came up with."

Harry sighed. Fae in the large hotel suite, a trip to Britain to look at whatever houses Ranma's contact had come up with, and no morning setup to wakeup to. What else could go wrong?

And like that, the deities decided to once again use the infamous Bitch Slap of the Gods.

* * *

Harry stared at the two Fae before him, as they lounged on the table, eating fruit.

No, they weren't the type that usually tried to seduce his Old Man.

Okay, any type was the type to try and seduce his Old Man, but these Fae didn't seem interested at all in the Saotome man.

These were barely a few inches tall, slender, feminine, the main difference between them being the coloring of their wings.

The fact one was an obvious Winter Fae and one an obvious Summer Fae, despite their nearly identical appearances, just confused and frightened the young Potter all the more. Aside from the Queen Mothers, the two Courts simply didn't get along that well.

And these two were eating … together.

"Okay," started Harry, "who are they?"

"Mix and Pix," said Ranma, looking over the morning paper.

"And?"

"Charges sent to assist you in this … Hogwarts place …in case they try to go back on our agreement," said Ranma.

"And?"

"And likely an attempt by the Queen Mothers to spy on you and me while seeing what goes on in areas of this mage subculture that they may or may not be able to scry."

"O…kay," said Harry, gingerly taking a seat.

"Take it easy on them, Harry," said Ranma.

"I assume they weren't the first option," offered the boy, all too familiar with how most people negotiated: offer something you'd know they'd never agree to, then offer something a bit more palatable but will seem like a better idea.

"A phoenix and a basilisk," said Ranma. Really, where was the boy to keep a killer snake like that with their lifestyles? And a phoenix of all things? Like Ranma was going to tempt Fate with one of those around.

"We're right here, you know," said Mix, the Summer Fae.

"My deviant sister is correct," said Pix, the Winter Fae.

Harry just blinked, staring at the two for a second, before turning his attention to his Guardian. Did they just claim to be … sisters? "… AND?"

Ranma shrugged. "Winter Fae mother who raped a Summer Fae male; thus oddly producing these two, who were immediately requested by the Mothers."

"Ah," said Harry. "Right; don't want to know anymore."

"But it's a really good story!" offered Mix.

"It could use a bit more blood in it," said Pix.

The two human males shivered at that. One was glad the little psychos were not assigned to him, the other cursing his adopted parent for once again being unable to say no to anything female.

"Are they even allowed to go with me to school?" asked Harry, looking for an easy out. School was going to be enough trouble—like his Guardian, the scholarly institutes were not very … compatible to his lifestyle.

But then again, how many ten-year-olds had an entire private school wing named after them? And it wasn't like that arson charge ever stuck. He could hardly be blamed for a demon burning it down.

Okay, so he **had** been the one to set the demon on fire in the first place, but how was he to know the thing would run into the school and directly into the chemistry lab?

Ranma just shrugged. "Who knows, who cares; you want to try and stop them?"

Harry shivered, knowing that if he looked, a menacing look of glee would probably be on the faces of the small Fae. "Fine."

Ranma nodded, continuing to read the paper. "We can ask around when we get our escort to this Diagon Alley place," Ranma said. Whoever it was, the Saotome man hoped it was someone who was at least well informed and not likely to make a scene. The less people who knew Harry was back with in that country, the better.

* * *

"I blame you for this," grumbled Harry, as he followed the large half-giant towards the location of Diagon Alley.

"Oh sure, it's always my fault," grumbled Ranma right back. Oh, Dumbledore was **so** going to get yelled at for this. They might as well have been walking under floating signs demanding to be noticed.

"We could just kill him," whispered Pix, hiding under a flap covering Harry's right shoulder. "I wonder how long it'd take to slit a giant's throat." There was no mistaking the curiosity in her voice as to if she could do it.

"Sister dear, you know our limitations placed upon us by the Mothers, remember?" said Mix.

Harry just shook his head. Where was the justice in this? Why did he have two young bloodthirsty Fae assigned to him by the Mothers? Why was his guide to this magical subculture more likely to point him out in a crowd rather than allow him quiet observation—and a good hope of finding proof so as to justify an escape?

And to make matters worse, the legal advisor that his teacher was supposed to have acquired to help Harry smooth out any family obligations and legal issues in this subculture had failed to show up at the house they were 'living' at during Harry's tenure at Hogwarts.

_Can't one thing go right this day?_ he bellowed internally. If his school year was like this, he was going to have to set aside a lot of time to find the proper methods to payback his caregiver for putting him through this.

"My, oh my," came a distinctively female voice, "you do travel with the most interesting people, Saotome."

Harry blinked in surprise as his Guardian cringed like a puppy about to get its nose whacked for peeing on the rug. _Who is this woman and how can I use her to torture the Old Man?_ He almost wanted to smile in joy as finally, the Bitch Slap of the Gods was focused solely on Ranma Saotome, allowing Harry once more … to enjoy the show without being involved.

"Hello, Nabiki," he said quietly. "I was a little worried when you didn't show up at the house." He had been wrong; there were two more words scarier than fiancé or fiancée: Nabiki Tendo, and he had been forced to contact her to help ensure things went their way … legally.

The woman just snorted. "Right; like I couldn't find out where this place was with a few phone calls. Besides, the last time I trusted a cab in this town; it drove by Buckingham Palace three times for one trip. It was just easier to meet you here."

"Really?" asked Hagrid. "I'll 'ave to tell Dumbledore 'bout that," he muttered. "You didn't tell any Muggles, did ya?" he asked nervously. Was the Statute of Secrecy broken?

Nabiki just snorted. "Please; more found out from you discussing it on the street than will ever find out from me." She smiled as the half-giant chuckled nervously.

"And don't worry, I found out from my contacts in the Japanese magical communities.

"Which reminds me," she said, focusing once more back on Ranma. "I was asked to relay a message to you from an Inquisitor, something about some irregularities in some of your filings for the Amaterasu incident."

Harry felt his joy grow as he watched his teacher suddenly pale. No matter what, this day was already so worth it just to see the usual man—a man who seemed unstoppable—look as if he was a small boy about to be grounded before Christmas.

"You know, Ranma-baby," said the woman, her voice a near purr, but her facial expression much like a Fae with a helpless member of the opposing Court before them, "you promised to keep in contact more. How many years ago was that, Saotome?"

Hagrid just stared back and forth between the two adults. He really didn't know why the guy Harry's guardian was acting like that. He didn't know why, but he got the feeling the lady was a decent sort. Hagrid did consider himself a good judge of character, after all.

Harry tilted his head back, feeling a ray of sunshine beam upon him, as his Guardian cowed under the woman's glare. There was a God!


End file.
